Chapter 55

"Why are we making so many sandwiches?" Edith asks, wrinkling her nose.

She's wearing her best dress for Sunday service, especially as her father might be there and she might get to speak to him again, for the first time in almost a year, and she really, really doesn't want to get butter on it. Beside her, Katherine struggles to bite her tongue, layering cheese on the bread and passing it along the sideboard to Jack, who is attempting to pack the sandwiches into Katherine's basket at the same time as tying his tie. It isn't going particularly well.

"Because the newsies don't eat very well at this time of year." Katherine sighs. "This might be the only meal they get all day."

"What?" Edith's hand stutters in it's work of buttering the bread – servant's work, she might add. "All day? On a sandwich?"

Jack snorts, derisive and dark, to nobody but himself. "They's lucky they gets this much."

"How do they have the energy for baseball?" Edith frowns.

"Stuff like that keeps you warm. 'Sides, it ain't often they get to have fun." Jack shrugs, packing the last of the sandwiches into the basket and then looking down at his tangled mess of a tie. "Uh, Ace? A little help?"

Katherine looks over at her husband, slightly helpless in the knot he's worked himself into, and laughs as she steps up to him to fix it. They've been married for months now, and Katherine is starting to wonder if it will ever wear off, this feeling that she gets when she stands close to him, feels some part of him brush against some part of her, however briefly, even just her fingers at his throat, fixing his tie. Will she ever tire of this, such proximity to this wonderful husband of hers with his talented, artist's fingers and his bright, kind eyes that glint with mischief? The father of the child that she is starting to feel inside of her? The child that is not kicking, not yet, not quite, but that has lent her stomach a soft swell beneath her clothes, a heaviness in her belly that was not there before.

She has chance to tell somebody new about such developments when she sees Rose, straying from Dr. Graceton's side and wandering towards her, in the church courtyard after service. Edith scuffs at the ground with the toes of her boots, dejected at the absence of their father in the church's pews, something which brings little but joy to Jack and Katherine. As Rose approaches, Jack nudges Edith, suggests they set off to the park. Edith nods, surprised he even remembered her presence. Dropping a kiss on Katherine's cheek and telling her to catch them up, he leaves her to deal with Rose.

"I –" Katherine steels herself, praying that Rose won't try and have her over for another godawful tea at her news, "I have some news."

"Oh? Pray tell."

"I'm pregnant."

"Oh, Katherine, how wonderful!" Rose squeals, though keeping her voice down, appropriate for church. Katherine wonders how she can communicate quite so much ear-piercing enthusiasm whilst still staying so quiet. She probably had that skill herself, once, taught by a governess to make her more amiable, more likely to make a good match. Her poor governesses. She was a lost cause from the start. "How far along?"

"Thirteen or fourteen weeks, I believe." Katherine tells her, allowing herself a small smile.

It's okay, she reminds herself, to show that you're excited. Because she is, she is excited, and she refuses to allow the judgement of others to preclude that. She cannot wait to have this baby, to see Jack's face when he gets to hold his child in his arms, to see him get everything he's ever wanted. Her, a baby, a family.

"Oh, our little ones shall be but a few months apart! They shall surely be the best of friends."

Katherine's excitement shrivels up and dies. Still, her voice only dips a little when she asks: "Will Dr. Graceton permit it?"

"Oh." Rose's face drops, glancing over her shoulder to where her husband is engaged in a discussion about elocution with Mr. Fisher, who read the scripture today. "Well," Rose turns back to Katherine, pursing her lips a little and setting her jaw, more determined that Katherine has ever seen her, "he has informed me that the children shall be purely my concern, that he does not wish to be bothered with them until they can properly converse. So, I imagine he shall have little say in the matter."

Katherine frowns. "He is not excited?"

"He is. Just… for later. He has little interest in pregnancy or babies. Why, is your husband beside himself?" Rose laughs a little, as if the notion is laughable.

"Utterly." Katherine says and, though it's entirely true, she can't say she's completely immune to the jolt of satisfaction at the face Rose makes, her mouth turning into a little 'o'. "I keep catching him talking to my stomach, as if conversing with the little one. He's besotted already and he hasn't even met the poor little thing."

Rose smiles then, warm and open in a way that makes Katherine feel just a tad guilty for lording it over the other woman; Rose's husband might be richer, posher, more educated, but Katherine's husband loves her, and she loves him right back. "Well, he is quite besotted with you. It hardly surprises me."

…

"Now, sandwiches after baseball. I ain't havin' none o' you pukin'." Jack tells all the kids, when they arrive in the park, setting the basket down on a bench and promptly dividing them into teams. Edith sits and watches as the boys scatter across the big green field.

She sits and watches, on the outskirts, as she always does, while they play a round. It's more entertaining than she thought it would be, considering the derisive tone her father had taken in regards to it. Edith gets so caught up in the moment that she doesn't notice Katherine wandering into the park, or the way her sister stops on a bench a little way away and watches as Henry approaches her.

"My throwin' arm ain't so bad after all, huh?" Henry grins, shoving his hands in his pockets as he wanders over to her at the end of the first round.

"I'm not sure." Edith frowns. "Lots of people are running about, but I'm not sure why."

"Ain't nobody ever explained baseball to you?" Henry frowns. Edith shakes her head. "Right," Henry nods, casting about for a stick, then plonking himself down on the bench beside her and beginning to draw lines with it in the slightly muddy ground at their feet, "so, you's got two teams, batters an' fielders. The batters take it in turns to hit the ball as far as they can, an' then they has to try an' run round as many o' these bases as they can 'fore the ball gets brought back to one o' these bases. 'S the fielders who bring it back, they's gotta try an' catch the ball an' get it back to a base while the batter is still between bases, to get them out. See?"

She does, sort of. "What happens if somebody is out?"

"Then they can't bat no more." Henry shrugs, then his face lights up. "You want a go at battin'?"

Yes. I'd love to. It looks like so much fun. "I do not think that would be appropriate."

"You scared or somethin'?"

Edith glares at him, then turns away, sticking her chin in the air. "I am not scared."

"So have a go." Henry grins, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the field. "'S easy, I'll teach you."

Edith can't believe he just touched her – grabbed her hand, no less. This grubby boy, practically a stranger, clearly with no idea of etiquette - "Fine."

It's almost worth joining in just for the look on Jack's face when he sees her joining the line to bat. He's on the opposite team, one of the fielders, as Henry had called them, but despite that fact his face breaks into a grin and he shoots her a double thumbs up across the park. Albert is up to bat, first, makes it round two of the bases before Jack throws the ball to another fielder to tap it in. Then it's Crutchie's turn.

Edith turns to Henry, who's stood beside her in line to bat. "How is Crutchie –"

"Jus' watch." He hushes her, jerking his chin at Crutchie, whose weight is propped on his crutch, two shaky hands holding the bat.

Mush pitches slower, this time, not noticeably so, unless you were looking for it, but he does. Fast enough that it's still not easy, but not the same way as he did for Albert. To his credit, Crutchie whacks the ball with no small amount of force, sending it sailing right over Jack's head where he's stood in the middle of the field. Dropping the bat, Crutchie hobbles (his speed rather impressive, Edith thinks, considering his injury) around the bases, heading for first as Jack breaks into an all-out sprint for the ball on the other side of the field. Edith frowns a moment, amidst the clamouring cheers of the other boys in line, who hoot and yell go on, Crutchie, convinced that Jack will get the boy out before he's even made second base. But the very second that Crutchie passes second base, the boys in the batting line yelling at him to keep going, keep running, go on, Jack stops running back towards the bases, slowing to a walk, ball in hand, watching Crutchie's back edging towards third. Edith sees him nod, just slightly, raising a lazy arm and tossing the ball back to Jojo, who runs to tap it on a base. She can't help herself, jumping up and down and yelling for Crutchie to stop at third base, to stay safe there, not risk trying to make a home run.

Crutchie stops, breathing heavily, grinning, and they shout praise from the sidelines. And then it's her turn. The first time, she misses, but that's okay, lots of the boys miss. Jack, who is stood in her line of sight, far behind the pitcher, nods at her, smiling. She nods back, tries again, misses. Tears start to well in her eyes.

"Hey," she hears Henry's voice, behind her, "try lockin' your wrists. Makes it easier."

She swallows down the frustration. Who cares if she doesn't hit this stupid ball? It's not like she needs these boys to respect her anyway. She locks her wrists, swings, connects. Edith is so shocked that she doesn't even start running until she hears the boys hooting and howling behind her, spurring her on to second base before screaming at her to hold it. She stops, chest heaving, thoroughly not dressed for this, thoroughly unladylike. And she knows that the boys probably went easy on her, secretly, the way they did for Crutchie, because she's a girl and has no clue what she's doing. It's still the most fun she's had in months.

Their team wins. Henry and Albert hoist Crutchie onto their shoulders and parade around the park, laughing and joking. Edith laughs with them.

Jack doesn't quite manage to see out the game, though he plans to go and clap Crutchie and the others on the back later, because Carl tries to slide his way to third base and promptly bursts into tears from scraping up his leg pretty bad. Instead, he hoists Carl to his feet and takes him over to the bench, holding the kid's hand the entire way and telling him them they'll sort him out. Katherine spots them coming from where she's sat on the bench and hops to her feet, ready to help sort Carl out.

"Oh, Carl," she sighs, bending down in front of him once Jack sets him on the bench, "what happened?"

"Scraped my knee." He sniffs.

"Y'did a good job o' it too, didn't you, kid?" Jack sighs. There's always something. "C'mon, now, none o' those tears, it ain't nothin' but a scrape. You's had worse in scraps with the boys, ain't you?"

Carl nods miserably, swiping at his damp eyes and snotty nose with the back of his hand. To be fair to him, the kid had scraped his leg up good and proper.

"Come on, Carl." Katherine nudges him a little further onto the bench so that she can sit beside him and tucks him into her side. She doesn't really know what to do with crying children, but she holds his snot-smeared hand and squeezes anyway, eternally glad she has Jack. He's going to make a fantastic parent. She doesn't know that he's thinking the same thing about her as she tells Carl: "You hold my hand while Jack cleans that knee up, hm?"

Carl whimpers when Jack pours water from the bottle Katherine had stowed in the basket over his knee, but he doesn't complain. Jack ruffles his hair for that, telling him that he's doing real well. Then his eyes flick to Katherine.

"We got anything that'd do for a bandage? Don' want it gettin' infected."

Katherine bites her lip, thinking, coming up empty. And then Edith appears behind Jack, tapping him on the shoulder where he's crouched in front of Carl.

"Will this do?" She's holding out a scarf, her scarf, in marbled silk, that Jack knows probably cost more than his entire outfit. "It's not cotton, but it might keep it clean."

Jack blinks up at her, a little dumbfounded, but then takes the material from between her fingers. "Thanks, Edie. 'S real good o' you." He turns back to Carl, pushing the kid's sock down so he can better wrap it around his knee, fingers tightening the fabric gently around the wound. "Whaddaya say to Miss Edith, Carl?"

"Thank you."

"You are very welcome." Edith replies, then wanders back over to the rest of the boys.

After they all sit around in the cold park, eating cheese sandwiches and smiling around them, after Jack sends them all off to sell the evening edition, after they set off walking back to the house, Edith decides that perhaps she does prefer baseball to cricket after all.

When they get back to the house, the three of them, Davey is sat on the front doorstep waiting for them.

"Dave, whaddaya think you's doin' out here?" Jack calls out to him, jogging ahead of the girls. "You's got a key."

Davey, shivering, pulls a face. "It seemed rude."

Good grief. Jack loves David like a brother, but there are some things about him that he will never understand. Who the hell decides to put politeness before warmth? Somebody who's never had to worry about freezing to death, that's who.

"You nitwit, c'mon, get in, get warm." Jack mutters, working the door open and ushering Davey inside. "Well?" He finally asks, leaning against the kitchen cupboards once he's got the coffee on to boil and has David in front of the stove to warm up. Davey frowns up at him, confused. "The date. We both knows that's what you's here to talk about."

The confusion clears, replaced by uncertainty. "I don't know how it went."

"Whaddaya mean you don' know?"

"It was goin' really well, Jack, really well. She loved dinner, she made jokes, she laughed at my jokes –"

Jack snorts. "Bloody hell, she's further gone for you than we thought."

"Shut up." Davey rolls his eyes. "Anyway, so I walk her back to her accommodation-"

"Nice, gentlemanly." Jack comments, picking at his fingernails.

"- thanks - and she just stands there. Outside the door. Lookin' at me. So, I say goodnight, and I turn around to walk away. And then she says are you seriously just walking away, David? And I couldn't work out whether she was laughin', or whether she was annoyed, so I just said yes, do you need somethin' else from me? And then she looked really upset and went inside." Davey tells him, all in one breath.

Jack is seriously considering bashing David Jacobs' head against a wall to knock some sense into him. How is it possible to be so clever and so dim at the same time? He pinches the bridge of his nose. "For Pete's sake, she wanted you to kiss her!"

"What?" Davey cries in a tone akin to a cat that has just been dumped in a bucket of ice water.

"I told you's to!" Jack throws his hands up in the air, put-upon and exasperated. "Why didn't you?"

"Because I thought you were jokin'! That thing with the hot soup and the ice cream-"

Bloody hell. "You's such an idiot, Dave." Jack sighs, taking the other man by the shoulders and walking him towards the front door. He opens it, pushes a very confused Davey outside and tells him: "Walk over there, knock on the door, tell her that you like her an' you wanta kiss her."

"I can't do that."

"Go. Do it. Come back for dinner once 's done."

With that, Jack shuts the door in Davey's face, telling himself that sometimes people need tough love. And sometimes, people really need a reality check. When Davey returns, an hour later with cheeks red from cold, Jack just raises one eyebrow when he walks into the kitchen.

"Miriam agrees that I'm an idiot."

"An'?"

A small, embarrassed smile, cheeks reddening from something other than cold. "She let me kiss her. I asked first, like you said."

Jack congratulates him, then proceeds to make jokes about it all through dinner.

…

Edith, Jack comes to discover over the next couple of days, is a late riser. He supposes that it's a natural consequence of her upbringing, that she has never had to wake up for work. Katherine is getting better, though her sleep schedule, despite his best efforts, is still far from ideal. His own isn't great, so it's difficult to find room to bargain with Kath. Edith, however, is another level entirely.

On the 24th, both Jack and Katherine finally have their days off – three whole days, in fact, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and Boxing Day – but there's too much to be done for them to lie in bed all day, so they've already completed a lot of the preparations before Edith emerges from her room. They don't hear her coming down the stairs, so they're rather… caught up in things, in the living room at that point.

See, Jack knows that Race could probably handle doing the Santa thing this year, given that he's aging out of the lodgehouse come spring, but it doesn't feel quite right to place such a burden on the kid. Jack remembers how hard it used to be to scrape together enough to buy each boy even a sweet or two back when he was just selling papes, and he sold a damn sight more papes than Race does. So, he has a pile of toys and clothing and wrapping paper in the living room and he and Katherine have been systematically working their way through each one, wrapping it and tying on a label and setting it aside ready for the stealth operation Jack is dreading pulling off that evening.

Except then Katherine says something cheeky, and she's so damn clever, and she's so damn pretty, so Jack gets ahold of her and starts tickling, because he's learned, over these few months of marriage, that he can turn her into a giggling, squirming mess by just stroking his fingers over the backs of her knees. He uses this knowledge to full advantage, laughing as she swats at his head, as he pins her to the floor and kisses her to keep her quiet, as she laughs into his mouth. And then stops, with a little oh, stops moving entirely, and Jack pulls back. He's been too rough with her, he's always too rough –

Katherine smiles at him, twists her hand to take his where it's still pinning her wrist to the floor in amongst their tussling and slides it down between them to rest against her stomach. There's a definite bump there, now. Jack, still half on top of her, too scared to move in case he's hurt her in their playfighting, frowns as she places his hand there.

"I think our baby just kicked."

She smiles, whispering. It had been a strange feeling. She's not sure if it was a kick, honestly, but what else could it be? It was a twinge, not entirely comfortable, but a definite movement. She has a little person inside of her, with tiny feet, tiny toes, that they made.

"I thought – I thought your book said sixteen weeks –"

"Fourteen weeks – fifteen, now, I suppose, was only an estimation." Katherine shrugs, the most content she's felt since the day she married Jack. "Besides, we should have known ours would be an early bloomer. A Christmas miracle, perhaps."

Jack looks down at her with a shaky smile. "Our baby just kicked."

"Yes. They did."

"And that's a good thing, ain't it? Means everythin's okay?"

"Yes." She squeezes his hand, where it's resting on her stomach. "They're letting you know that they're okay."

There's a moment, then, a moment when Jack looks at Katherine like a man whose prayers have been answered, a moment like finding salvation, like redemption dawning across his face. And then a grin breaks out across his face instead. He rolls them over – gently, so very gently, and pulls her down to kiss him.

"We's got a baby, Kath. A baby."

They're laughing, then, and kissing, and crumpling the wrapping paper. When Edith comes downstairs, she stops in the doorway, just for a moment, watches them, wrapped up in one another, and her chest aches. She creeps back up the stairs, letting them be a family for a little longer.