"We're almost there," Jack said. "Just through here." He held Rose's hand and guided her through the dense woods. They were thicker than he remembered. Finally, they came to the field. It was overgrown; the grass was up to his waist. The house was small in the distance. But it was there; it was still standing. Rose glanced at him. "Are you alright?" she asked.
"I didn't expect to ever come back," he said. "I wasn't even sure it would still be here."
"Do you want to leave?"
"No. Let's go," he said.
It was a two-story frame house. Once it had been white, but now the paint was chipped and dirty. One of the front steps was broken. The glass in the windows was still intact. The porch was dirty. The rope on the swing in the front yard was broken. Jack didn't know how to feel as they approached. He felt so many things all at once. It was difficult to breathe. Rose squeezed his hand, and he was glad she was there. Facing the memories on his own would have been too much; he would have been crushed beneath them.
The door creaked loudly, but it opened. Inside the air was thick and musty. Rose coughed. Dust swirled around them with each step. The furniture was still there, but filthy and lost beneath the dust. In some cased one touch was all the wood needed to finally give out. Their footsteps echoed dully. Rose shivered despite the heat. It was like wandering through a haunted house. She tried to imagine Jack living there, but she couldn't. She couldn't imagine anyone ever living there.
"I'll go first," Jack said when they came to the stairs. "It might not be safe."
She held to his shirt, stepping carefully behind him. Like the door, the stairs creaked loudly, but they didn't give out. There were four doors on the second floor. "That one's the attic," he said, pointing to the far right. "And that was my room," he added, indicating the middle door.
"Can I see it?"
"There's not much to see," he said. "Let's go back downstairs."
They went over the rest of the house and then out the back door. There was a screened-in porch; beyond that was a shed and barn. Jack was silent as they explored, and Rose left him in peace. In the shed they found shelves still filled with tools. They were covered in dust and grime, but they were still useable. "We can do this," Jack said. "It won't be easy." He turned to her. "What do you think?"
"I think it will be wonderful when we finish," Rose answered. "Though that may not be for a long time."
"C'mon," he said. "Let's go back to town and see about claiming it."
They were coming around the house when a voice called out, "Hey!" It came from a tall, well-built man with brown hair and green eyes. He wore patched pants and a dark shirt with rolled-up sleeves. "Hey, you!" he yelled. Rose moved closer to Jack. Jack squinted, studying the man. Recognition flashed in his eyes.
"Tom McCullough?" Jack called.
Tom eyed them warily. "Who're you?"
"It's Jack. Jack Dawson."
Tom stared at him in disbelief. "It's not."
"Yeah, it is," Jack said. "It's me."
"We thought you'd died," Tom said. "It's been so long. No-one thought we'd see you again."
"No, not dead," Jack said good-naturedly.
Tom held out his hand, and they shook heartily, like old friends. "This is my wife," Jack said, indicating Rose. "Rose." She smiled but didn't know what to say to this strange man.
Tom nodded politely to her. "Ma'am. But Jack, what brought you back here?"
"We decided to come home," Jack replied. "Or home for me. Thought it was time. Me and Rose needed a place to settle."
Tom's eyes dimmed. "Well, everyone'll sure be surprised to hear you're back," he said. "And with a wife. Some people, they didn't think you'd come back married." His sister, Lucy, for one. She believed Jack would return just as he had been the day he left. Tom dreaded telling her the news. There was no predicting how she would take it.
"I'm sure no-one thought I'd ever be back," Jack said. "What're you doing over here?"
"Just checking on the place. We look in on it from time to time," Tom explained. "The bank wanted to take it, but Pa convinced them not to. He said you'd be back for it. Guess he was right."
"That's a relief. We weren't sure if it was still mine." Jack wanted to thank him, but it sounded awkward in his head. He wanted to ask about Lucy, but that sounded even worse.
"Gonna be a lot've work," Tom said, looking around the overgrown field. "This field alone will take a few days, and then there's the house." He stole a glance at Rose. She was pretty, beautiful really, but he doubted she was up to the task. He couldn't see her scrubbing floors or pulling weeds. She looked too delicate for that. Why had Jack married a girl like that? Where had Jack even found a girl like that?
"Yeah, we know," Jack said. "But we can do it."
…
The bank manager peered at them across his desk. His eyes were small and watery. He played with a pen. "Let me understand this," he said. "You've come to claim your property."
"Yes," Jack said. "I was told that was possible. I just wanted to see you first. Make sure everything was handled right."
"Generally we ask for proof of identity," Bob said. "But—"
"You know who I am, Mr. Reed," Jack said. "You've known me for years."
"So I do," Bob said, relaxing slightly. "It's just a rather unusual situation. I didn't expect to see you again. We all assumed—"
"I was dead?" Jack said jokingly. "No."
"You can understand why," Bob said, looking from him to Rose.
"Sure," Jack said. "So, there's no problem?"
"No, I suppose not."
…
Jack walked with a light step. He put an arm around Rose, knowing they were being watched and proud to be seen with her. He didn't care about the dozens of questions they would have to answer anytime they met someone who recognized him, or the gossip that was sure to follow. They were going to make a home. Only the bright future remained.
"Someone's in a good mood," Rose said.
"It's been a good day. I didn't think it'd go so well."
"What now?" she asked.
"How about lunch?" he suggested.
"Lunch sounds perfect."
All eyes were on them when they entered the café. They ignored the stares and found a table in the corner. "You're famous," she teased.
"Well, I did rise from the dead," he joked. "That should get a second look."
"What comes next—with the house and land?" she asked.
"A lot of cleaning," he said.
"I knew that much."
"And when we get the house livable again, we can go stay out there."
"What will we do for money?" she said. It was something she had been wondering since their arrival.
"I don't know yet," he admitted. "But we're gonna figure out something. Last night I was thinking we'd plant a garden, just enough for the two of us. I don't want to run the whole farm, but maybe we could use the fields for something. I never wanted to run it. That's part of why I left." The arrival of a waitress put an end to conversation temporarily. She tried not to stare at them openly. As they ate, the story of Jack's return spread, growing more fantastic with each telling.
…..
The McCullough farm was large and prosperous. They were one of the most powerful families in the area, a position they had attained little by little over the years. Tom was the oldest brother. On his way in he met Billy, the youngest of the boys. "Where ya been?" Billy asked.
"I went over to check on the Dawson place."
"Why do you bother?" Billy said. "It never changes. No-one's ever there."
Lucy was stepping through the kitchen door when she heard Tom say, "There was today." She moved back, listening through the cracked door.
"Who?"
"Jack," Tom replied.
"No," Billy said incredulously. "He'd never come back. Besides, I heard he died."
Lucy held her breath. Her throat tightened on the word died. Jack hadn't died. Why did people keep saying that?
"No, it was him," Tom said. "I talked to him. He said he came back to settle here. He wants the land. He's gonna fix things up again."
Lucy couldn't believe her ears. At last he was home. She had hoped for it for so long, though she rarely mentioned his name anymore. Her brothers knew not to bring him up. Before her death, their mother often lamented Jack's leaving. There were other young men in the area, but Lucy wouldn't see them, and her mother was sure she would end up alone, bitter, and angry. But there was nothing she could do about it, except ask her sons to look after her.
"I never would've guessed it," Billy said. "You told Lucy yet?"
"I'm not sure I should," Tom said. "You know how she feels about him, still…."
"She'll find out anyway. It might as well be from you," Billy pointed out.
"Yeah, but he's not alone. He's got a wife."
Lucy couldn't hold in the cry; a blend of hurt and disbelief, it tore from her throat.
…
They would need more money; there was no way around that. But if they got the house in shape quickly enough, they could stay there and save what they were paying for a room. "Why don't we camp out?" Rose suggested.
Jack gave her a surprised look. "You'd do that?"
"It's warm enough. Why not?"
"But we'd be sleeping outside," he said. "On the ground."
"Oh, is that what camping is?" she said. "I didn't know. I'm guess I'm too much of an indoor girl."
"Okay, I'm sorry," he said. "I just didn't think you'd want to."
"I want to try it," she said. "It doesn't make sense to go all the way out there and work all day just to come back here and pay for a room we're barely in."
"You've got a point. Alright. Let's do it."
….
The water pump still worked. Jack shouted happily when clean water began to flow. "At least we won't be thirsty," he said. Rose just smiled, enjoying his happiness. Once they got past the grimy first layer, the soap was still usable. They filled buckets with soapy water and carried them back to the house. Rose insisted on carrying her own, though it was heavier than she expected. Jack held two easily, and she envied him. But she was determined to keep up with him as much as possible.
They swept the floors, each starting at one end of the house. Rose moved quickly, attacking the dirt, but soon her arms began hurting, and she had managed to do very little despite her efforts. The broom felt odd in her hands. She had seen people sweep, but she wasn't sure how they did it. The servants always made it look so easy.
"Here, like this," Jack said, putting his hands over hers. She jumped, startled. "Sorry," he said. "Hold your hands this way. Don't go so fast. Just—" She let him show her how to move with the broom. "See?" he said.
Rose nodded, slightly ashamed. "Yes. I've got it now." She tried to imitate his movements, but her hands were clumsy. Finally, she cleared out the rooms on her end, and then the porch. Tiny blisters were forming on her hands. She hid them from Jack. Together, they scrubbed each room, first the walls and then the floors. They opened the windows to let in fresh air, and by that afternoon the downstairs smelled of strong soap and clean spring air.
They piled the dishes in the sink and left them to soak with yet another bucketful of water carried from the pump. The furniture was outside, still waiting to have the dust beaten from it. Rose's back ached. She didn't think she could do any more, but Jack didn't seem tired at all. So she pushed herself to keep going. When they stopped to rest, he stripped off his shirt and doused himself with water. Rose couldn't take her eyes off him. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.
…
By the time the sun was setting the first floor was finished. Rose didn't know how they had done it. Jack's boundless energy must have spurred them on. The shed and tools were clean. They dragged what they could from the upstairs rooms outside. Jack dug a fire pit, and Rose gathered wood. He showed her how to stack the wood and light it. They drew water from the pump and washed, piling their clothes in a bucket of soapy water. Rose hugged herself, nervous in just her underclothes. "No-one else is out here," Jack said kindly.
"I can't help feeling like I'm going to be seen," she said. She was almost too exhausted to eat, but she managed to devour two sandwiches anyway. She caught Jack watching her and blushed.
"You're cute when you blush," he said. "But you don't have to."
"A lady doesn't eat this way," she explained.
"She might if she's hungry enough," he said.
They spread a blanket on the ground, making a bed in the soft grass. "Here," Jack said, handing her a small jar. "For your hands."
"I hoped you wouldn't notice," she said.
"Why?"
"It's not—" She shook her head. "Never mind." There was no use explaining, and she was too tired to try. The salve soothed her raw hands, but the rest of her ached. She sighed when they finally lay down. Jack draped a blanket over them and held her against him. "Lay your head on me," he said. "You'll be more comfortable."
"What about you?"
"I'm used to the ground," he replied.
"We did so much today," Rose said yawning. "Who would have thought I…." She trailed off, overcome by sleep.
Jack kissed her hair. "I would've thought it," he said.
….
"Tell me what she's like," Lucy demanded.
Tom ignored her and reached for another biscuit. He hadn't had a moment's peace since she found out about Jack's return. He was looking forward to going out to work; with any luck she wouldn't follow him.
"Just tell her," Adam, the second oldest brother said. "Maybe she'll leave you alone. And the rest of us," he added in a mutter.
"She needs to let it go," Tom said. "It doesn't matter what this girl's like. Lucy, you won't like her, no matter what because of who she is, and there's nothing you can do about it. So, please, honey, just let this go and eat some breakfast." He wasn't trying to sound harsh. He loved his little sister, but he knew how stubborn she could be, and he vividly remembered how deeply she grieved after Jack left. Moving on was the best thing she could do.
Lucy scowled. "I can just go over there and find out myself."
"You'll do no such thing," Tom said.
"You're not Pa. You can tell me what to do," she said, sounding much younger than she really was.
"While he's away I'm in charge," Tom reminded her calmly. "And I say you're not going over there. They've got enough to do. In a few days we'll go over as a family and visit. Jack was our friend too."
Lucy didn't care what he said; she barely heard him. Once they were all outside and the breakfast things were cleared away she stole through the woods, determined to see Jack and this girl for herself. She stayed hidden in the trees, hoping for them to come outside. Jack came out first. Her breath caught in her throat. He was real; he was just as she remembered. She drank in the sight of him, imagining he hadn't left.
But then she saw Rose. Her curls were tied back. She wore a pair of Jack's pants and shirt; her feet were bare. She looks like a doll, Lucy thought scornfully. Her scorn turned to envy as Jack helped her beat a rug clean. Doll or not, she had him.
….
Rose crossed her arms over her chest. "It makes sense," she said stubbornly.
"Yeah, I know, but—"
"But you think we should do it." She softened her pose. "Jack, I don't want to do it either. Don't misunderstand me. I don't want to keep it, but what choice do we have? I'm thinking of us, trying to be practical."
"I love that about you," he said. "But I don't want to think we're getting money from—"
She didn't want him to say it. "Think of it as getting money from me. It's my ring. I'll never wear it again. It only brought me misery, so why not try and get something good out of it? There's a lot we can do without money, but we can't live forever without it."
"I know," he agreed. "I've been thinking about it. I haven't been able to come up with anything." He shook his head. "This isn't the kind of place I can just go find a job to help us along. I told myself we could do that, but it's not gonna work."
Rose put her arms around him. "You don't have to worry so much about this," she said. "You don't have to figure everything out, Jack. You've done enough. You got us this far. Let me take care of things for a while."
He looked down at her silently for a long moment. "We can't sell it here," he said. "No-one around here would buy it, and if they did, they'd have too many questions and wouldn't give us enough. Are you sure it can't be traced back to him? Or us?"
"Only if he reposts it stolen, and only if whoever we sell it to finds out," she said. "But how many diamond rings are there? And why would he report that?"
"To find you?" Jack suggested. "He's not stupid. He knows we'll need money."
"But he won't want to make it public that I'm gone," she said. "Not until he has to. I'm sure he and my mother have come up with all sorts of reasons why I'm not in sight. Trust me, Jack, they don't want a scandal. They'll probably quietly declare me dead in a few months," she added grimly.
He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Don't think about them," he said. "We're beyond them now. We'll sell it in Chicago, alright? If he does report it stolen, and the news makes it that far, they'll never have any reason to come looking up here."
….
It was a quick trip. They sold the ring easily, earning $5,000, a fraction of its original price, but still more than Jack had ever seen all at once. He doubted he had ever seen so much his whole life, and he wasn't comfortable carrying it. On the train back, he kept reaching into their bag and touching the envelope that held it, reassuring himself it was still there. Before they left Chicago they went shopping. They bought new clothes. Shoes. Drawing supplies. Books. Things for the house, which they had to arrange to have shipped back. Having money was intoxicating. Jack had never appreciated the power it gave a person, but as they approached home, he was glad it was only a temporary thrill.
For the next week they continued fixing up the house. They went into town for supplies a few times, but they weren't approached by anyone, merely looked at curiously. It was as if people were afraid to speak to Jack. After a few days the place began looking livable again, even comfortable. They cut the grass in the fields, an experience Rose found harrowing after Jack warned her to watch for snakes. She wore sturdy boots of her own now and pants to work in. "There's no reason to do all of this in a dress," she said. "I'll just ruin it." Jack agreed.
Finally, the inside was done. The stove worked. There was food on the pantry shelves. The furniture was clean. They had a bed and could sleep indoors again. Rose almost missed sleeping in the field, though. But she was too tired to think much about it. As soon as Jack's arms were around her, she fell into a dreamless sleep.
….
Lucy couldn't help herself. She went over again, just to see what was going on. She couldn't imagine Rose getting through even the simplest chores. She could never help get the place back in shape. What she saw amazed her. Everything looked new, or rather, old, as if no time had passed. She half-expected Jack to come running outside to greet her. But he didn't, and Lucy scolded herself for thinking that way.
She found them down at the lake. They were fishing. Jack was baiting Rose's hook for her; she made a face while he did it. "How can you do that?" she asked, shivering. Lucy shook her head. How could he have married such a simpering girl? Rose's skin was beginning to brown a little, from the days in the sun. Her curls were loose and wild. Lucy couldn't see them, but she had tiny freckles on her nose now. It was the freckles jack bent down to kiss.
