Chapter 54

Katherine had intended to be the one who picked up Edith from the station. She honestly had. But then work had got in the way, and Mr. Ross wanted the article ready for the next day, and well, Jack had offered, of course he had. Which is how Jack ends up being the one waiting at Grand Central Station for Edith on the 22nd of December, shoving his hands deep in his trouser pockets because he's pretty sure there's some sort of universal rule that train stations always and everywhere have to be completely freezing. He's aware that he looks a bit odd, not old enough to be Edith's father, not alike enough to be her brother, and certainly not of her class. Even in his neat grey suit, Jack knows that there's something about the way that he carries himself that marks him out as fundamentally different from the Pulitzers, even if he can't seem to quite pin it down.

He spots her pretty quick though, and she actually returns his wave, even if hers is more of a hand raised in acknowledgement rather than enthusiasm. She greets him pretty pleasantly though, and he picks up her trunk, startled by the weight of it, wondering whether she's decided to bring her school's kitchen sink along with her for good measure. Jack's about to make a joke out of it when a policeman, lounging by the information desk, approaches them.

Now, Jack's been pardoned – by Governor Roosevelt no less – but the sight of one of the bulls never fails to make his skin crawl and his heart race. He remembers the feel of their hands on him too well, the way they slammed his head into tiled walls, blood spatters on grimy white, the searing pain of their truncheons coming down on his back. Running will do him no good, Jack knows, the policeman is too close. Running now would make him look guilty. He stands up very straight and tries to swallow down the panic that's rising in his throat. Surely they won't arrest him in front of Edith? Have he and Katherine got enough saved up for bail?

"Excuse me, sir." The word 'sir' should make Jack feel respected, but the way that this policeman says it, cold, assessing, just feels mocking. "What relation have you to the young lady?" Jack shifts infinitesimally away from Edith and opens his mouth to explain. No cheek, Kelly, just get out of this and go home.

"He is my brother-in-law," Edith cuts in, beating him to it and jutting her chin out, the very spitting image of Katherine when she's angry, "and I don't see what business it is of yours when you are not questioning anybody else. Kindly step aside."

The policeman looks down at Edith, taken aback, but nods, finally, shooting Jack a glare as he does so. "Very good, Miss."

They're not quite out of earshot when she exclaims: "The cheek!"

"He was lookin' out for your best interests, Edith." Jack replies, sending a nervous glance over his shoulder. The policeman might have heard her. It's not a good idea to insult a policeman. The last time he insulted a policeman, he ended up with two broken fingers and a bloody lip.

"He was judging the company I was keeping." Edith sniffs, nose in the air. "Seeing as yours and Katherine's is the only offer of hospitality I've received, this Christmas, I rather think he is judging the wrong people."

And, well, this is quite the turnaround from the Edith that Jack had come across at their wedding just a few months ago. Maybe she's done a whole lot of growing up while none of them were looking. Or maybe he just hadn't bothered to see beyond the snobby little girl before.

"You ain't heard from your parents?"

"Mother, yes," Edith shrugs, as if it doesn't bother her in the slightest, "but she doesn't want me interfering with Constance's education by coming to stay and the day Father answers a letter from me will be the day when Hannah feels so sorry for me that she forges a reply."

"Ah." Jack sighs. That sounds familiar. As far as he knows, Katherine has been too proud to so much as write to either of her parents since before their wedding, but he knows that it hurts her still, sometimes, when she has some great achievement with her career. Even though she knows her father would only have found fault in whatever article it is, that her mother would have been thoroughly uninterested, he can see it in her eyes as she stares at the newsprint. He coughs, tries to think of something else to say. "Your room ain't the nicest, 'cos we's halfway through turnin' it into a nursery-"

"A nursery?" Edith stops in her tracks, stock still in the middle of the pavement.

"Ain't Kath told you?" Jack turns around, a few steps ahead of her, blinking. "We's havin' a baby."

There's a long pause, something unreadable flitting across Edith's face. Eventually, she shakes her head. "No. She hasn't said anything."

"Ah." Jack winces. "I think I mighta spoiled a surprise."

"That's okay." Edith says, though it doesn't sound very okay at all. "Congratulations."

"Thanks."

They start walking again. Edith looks straight ahead of them. "How far along is she?"

"Uh," Jack scratches at the back of his neck with his free hand, "she got this book from the library wi' a development chart, an' we thinks she's thirteen or fourteen weeks. Not sure though, she ain't showin much yet."

"That is very… quick." Edith shoots him a quick smile that might, in another universe, have looked amused. "You don't hang around, do you?"

Jack laughs, bright and loud. "It ain't exactly what we planned, but we's excited."

"I always thought Katherine would make a good mother." Edith nods, cocking her head to the side a little. "She was always so set on not getting married when we were younger, though, so I didn't think it would ever happen."

"I think Kath wanted to get married, she jus' didn't wanta be controlled." Jack shrugs, a lazy smile on his face, the kind that most often rests there when his wife comes up in conversation. "Joke's on me, Kath ain't the kinda person I could control 'f I wanted to." He shoots a glance at Edith. "You ever want kids, Edie?"

The girl frowns at him. "Edie?"

The nickname was too far, Kelly, too familiar. Idiot. She's a Pulitzer, and not one like Kath. "Not okay?"

"No, it's okay. Just… different." Edith replies, a little slowly, then coughs, returning to his question. "I think so. It will rather depend on what my husband wants, I suppose."

"There ain't no duty to give a bloke kids." Jack remarks. "'S up to you. He's gotta marry you 'cos he wants you, not what you can or can't give him."

"If only it were that simple."

"It can be. 'F you find the right guy."

"I believe Father already has his eye on someone for me." Edith tells him, blunt and dispassionate. "I don't imagine I will get much choice in the matter."

Jack's head spins a little. Edith's, what, fourteen? "Already?"

"Mr. William Moore." She nods. "His grandfather wrote The Night Before Christmas. Their family is very wealthy."

"An'… is he nice? This William?"

"I've never met him. Nothing is official, of course, but his father has expressed interest in him partnering with Ralph in the newspaper business once he finishes university."

It's so far beyond anything Jack's ever known, this idea of courtship as some sort of business venture. Of course, there's more than just love to consider in a marriage, there are naturally practicalities. But he can't imagine having some grown-up deciding his future at fourteen, telling him who he's going to spend the rest of his life with, who he's going to raise children with, who he's going to share a bed with. It's often hard for him to hear Katherine speak so derisively about her cushy childhood, but he's starting to see that perhaps it's not always money that buys freedom. Surely Edith can't be happy with this. Surely.

"I know it's a way off, but… you don't gotta do nothin' you don't wanta." He says. Jack isn't good with words, not like Katherine, he doesn't do big fancy speeches. But the kid has to know. "You's always got a home wi' us, y'know that?"

Edith looks at him as if he's just handed her an impeccably wrapped giftbox, not just said a few brusque words. "Thank you, Jack."

By the time they get to the house, Jack's arms are nearly dropping off from carrying the trunk, but he at least doesn't have to fiddle with the key. He left Daisy tapping away on Katherine's typewriter in the kitchen when he set off for the train station, so the door is unlocked. It's not like he needs any more time in this house with those clackety keys drumming into his brain, but after she mentioned how worried she was about getting injured and no longer being able to dance, Katherine had sat Daisy down and helped her to sign up for a secretarial correspondence course, telling her, in no uncertain terms, that she should come over and work at their kitchen table whenever she chose. Hence, whenever Katherine isn't clacking away, Daisy is usually round filling the kitchen with the noise. It had used to annoy Jack, but he's so used to it by now that it's almost comforting, as if the air doesn't feel quite right without the clatter of keys vibrating through it. Not that he'll ever tell either of them. They make enough noise as it is.

No, all Jack has to do is press down the handle with his elbow and kick the door open, announcing their arrival in a loud voice and hearing a three-part chorus echoing from the kitchen in response. He can pick out Crutchie and Henry's voices, along with Daisy's, though not Davey's. Shabbat isn't over yet, of course, but when it is, he's apparently taking Miriam out for a late dinner. Jack has already been consulted on flirting tactics, suit choice, and ways to not screw the whole thing up, and he honestly won't be surprised if David turns up the following afternoon to fret his way through a play-by-play account of the entire date like some sort of girl. That, however, is tomorrow's problem.

"Kath ain't home from work yet, but this is your room." Jack says, leading Edith up the stairs and into the guest room/nursery. When he turns around from placing the trunk on the floor, Edith is still standing in the doorway, staring at the jungle scene that spans the entire far wall. Jack winces, hand flying up to rub at the back of his neck. "Sorry 'bout the mural, 's for the baby."

"Don't be sorry. It's beautiful." Edith says, her voice quiet, wandering over to it and tracing her finger along the strong, supple line of the tiger's back, almost as if she is expecting to feel soft fur and lean muscle beneath her fingers. The rest of the house might be the shabbiest place she's ever seen, but this? This isn't half bad. "Did you paint it?"

"Yeah. Kath was on a work trip, thought I'd surprise her when she got back." Jack shrugs, backing towards the door, ready to leave her to freshen up or whatever posh ladies are supposed to do after trips. "Uh, don't be worried 'f you walks into the livin' room or the kitchen an' there's jus' random people in there. They's friends, 's jus' kinda an open house."

Sure enough, when Edith comes downstairs from having unpacked, Crutchie, Henry, and Daisy are lounging in the kitchen chairs while Jack slides a pie, previously sat ready on the sideboard, into the oven. She remembers them from the wedding – Daisy the best, of course, but the other two as well. Edith is rather proud of her talent for remembering people's names; it comes in useful at parties. Of all of them, Henry is the most difficult to recall, and it takes her a moment to land on the name of the tall boy, around her age, with sandy brown hair. Henry, that's right.

Jack catches sight of her, hesitant in the doorway, almost afraid to step into the kitchen. As she is, she can pretend not to be a part of this, can pretend to be a mere audience member. But then he beckons her in, reminding her of people's names and snagging a chair out from under the table for her with his foot.

"We's jus' waitin' on Kath for dinner. You likes fish pie, right, Edith?" He asks as she sits down, perching on the wooden chair, unsure of how to sit when the rest of them look so casual, legs spread and backs slumped.

"Yes, thank you."

Henry groans. "Fish pie, Jack?"

Jack shoots Henry a look, plonking a bowl of peas down in front of Crutchie for the boy to shell, a task which he takes up amiably, his bad leg propped up on a second chair. "Or you could go an' buy your own dinner."

"Fish pie, yum!" Henry clasps his hands together, bouncing up and down in his chair in mock excitement. For his troubles, a dishcloth sails right over the top of Edith's head and hits him smack in the face.

Edith turns to Jack, gaping. She can't believe he just did that – across the kitchen – she –

And then something wet hits the side of her face. One voice barks a laugh, another gasps. When she turns, there is the dishcloth on the floor beside her chair and Henry is wide-eyed, his hand over his mouth, a flush blooming across his pale cheeks.

"Miss, 'm so sorry," he stammers, "I didn' mean to, I was aimin' for Jack an'-"

"You might want to work on your throwing arm." Edith cuts in, pursing her lips, leaning down to pick up the dishcloth and holding it out to Henry between her thumb and forefinger. "You would be absolutely terrible at cricket."

The mortification quickly fades away, replaced by indignance as Henry snatches the dishcloth from between her fingers, his mouth opening and closing a few times, dumbfounded, before he manages to speak. This causes much amusement on the parts of Jack and Crutchie, the latter of which guffaws into the peas. "I's fantastic at cricket, thank you very much."

Crutchie snorts. "When has you ever played cricket?"

"'S none o' your concern." Henry replies, sticking his chin in the air and throwing the dishcloth at Jack once again, this time clearing Edith's head by a good distance.

"Give it up, Henry, you ain't posh enough to play cricket." Jack says, catching the dishcloth in mid-air like it's nothing at all and chucking the grey rag back into the sink.

Edith frowns. "Is cricket a posh sport?"

"You has to wear white to play it," Crutchie grins, "you know how many hours it takes to scrub grass stains outta white laundry? Too many for most folks to afford from the washerwoman down the street."

Jack, spotting the way that Edith's cheeks colour a little, gives her a small smile amidst the laughter. "'Fraid we's more o' a baseball crowd round here, Edie."

She blinks, her mouth hardening into a thin line. Edith Pulitzer is not accustomed to being laughed at. Especially not by people not even presentable enough to be the help. "Father says baseball is vulgar entertainment for the masses."

Daisy seems to sense even Jack's temper wearing thin, because she peers at Edith over the top of Katherine's typewriter, pausing in her efforts to peck out keys. "Why don' you watch a game? There's no sense judgin' it 'f you's never tried."

"Whaddaya reckon, Henry?" Jack asks, a grin spreading across his face. "Reckon we can rally the boys for a game tomorrow afternoon?"

"Can I promise them somethin' better than fish pie after?"

"Best they's gettin' is sandwiches."

"Done."

"Go get the ingredients then." Jack says, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket and fishing around for the appropriate change. Henry rolls his eyes, but gets up nonetheless. He still has an unfortunate tendency to push the boundaries, but he knows where he stands with Jack now.

He takes the money. "Bread, butter, ham?"

"Cheese." Jack tells him. "Les'll wanta come."

Not long after Henry's departure to the shop, Katherine returns, looking mildly flustered in the way that indicates a long day but not one that's going to require a session of ranting about her editors. There's ink smeared on her hands, as well as a little on her cheek, and her hair is held up with pencils rather than with hairpins, but it's a day's work done, an article in, and she's home.

"Edith!" She cries. "How are you? How was the journey?"

"I'm quite well, thank you, and… I got here, at least." Edith tilts her head to one side, her dark eyes skimming over Katherine's slightly dishevelled form. "Jack tells me that congratulations are in order."

"Oh!" Katherine bites her lip, just for a moment. She had meant to write. She had. It had just… slipped her mind. "Of course, I meant to tell you, but work has been so busy, I haven't had a second to write."

"Of course." Edith nods, her face impassive.

Jack clears his throat. "Dinner."

Plates get sent to the table, one going back into the oven for Henry, ready for when he gets back, but Jack stops Katherine before she can sit down and tuck in.

"Nuh-uh." He laughs, taking hold of her wrists and tugging her over to the sink. "Whaddaya call this, Mrs. Kelly?" He holds up her hands, turning her palms towards her face so that she can see the ink smeared across them. "An' you tells me off for not washin' the paint off o' my hands."

Katherine laughs a little, but sets to with the soap and hot water at the sink before presenting her hands once again. "Do I pass inspection now?"

"Not quite." Jack grins, grabbing the dishcloth and wiping away the little spot of ink that has found its way onto her cheek. "Now you's done."

He goes to steer them both towards the table, where Crutchie and Daisy have cheerfully informed Edith that if she waits for her sister and Jack to come to the table in order for her to start eating, as is the proper etiquette, then she'll be waiting all night, telling her to just tuck in. However, before they get anywhere close, Katherine stops him with a hand on his arm.

"You've got something just here." Katherine tells him, bringing her hand up to cup his face as if she's about to wipe something away. Instead, however, she leans up and brushes a kiss across his lips, just barely there, just enough to reassure and reaffirm quite how much she loves him. When she pulls away, she can't help but giggle at the smile which Jack is wearing. "There," she smiles, adjusting his collar, "very handsome."

Crutchie makes a retching noise into his plate. "You's puttin' me off o' my food."

"Oh, really?" Jack smirks, breaking away from his wife (with some difficulty, he might add) and wandering over to where Crutchie is inhaling his dinner. "I'll just give this to Henry then."

With that, he whips the plate out from under Crutchie's knife and fork, holding it high in the air even as a playful tussle breaks out between the two of them.

Edith has honestly never seen anything like it, so disorganised and undignified, Jack and Crutchie landing gentle punches, Henry wandering back in halfway through with several loaves of bread and blocks of cheese. Henry's appearance prompts Jack to explain the plan for the next afternoon to Katherine, which provides opportunity for Crutchie to steal his plate back. It's utter, utter chaos. This trip, Edith decides, is going to be interesting, at least.