"It's alright to plant useless things?" Rose said. She looked from the packets of seeds to Jack.
"You can grow anything you want," he said. "And flowers aren't useless."
"We can't eat them."
"What about honeysuckles? Or rose hips?" He put a hand on her hip. "Maybe not this one," he added in a low voice. Grinning, he moved closer.
A light blush spread across her face. "Jack," she said through a tight jaw. She looked around, expecting to see stares, but the other shoppers weren't paying any attention to them.
"Sorry," Jack said. "I got carried away." He kissed her hair. "You do that to me."
"I'm not that special, Jack."
"Yes, you are," he said.
Rose smiled, blushing even more under his gaze. "What should we get?" she said, turning back to the seeds.
"Peonies."
"Do you like those?"
"They're my favorites," he said. "Or they were. I like roses best, now."
"What else?" she said.
Meanwhile, across the store, Fabrizo's attempt to browse was drawing almost as much attention as an attempted robbery would have. Jane, the girl who worked behind the counter, couldn't take her eyes off him. Marianne, Julia, and Florence had all forgotten their reasons for coming in. They clustered together, pretending not to watch him. They followed at a distance, whispering and giggling. Fabrizo tried to ignore it. It was strange yet flattering at the same time. He'd always been well-liked; he'd always had a fairly easy time with girls. But this was different. This was the sort of reaction he'd grown used to seeing Jack get.
Jack still got plenty of looks, even with Rose by his side. He didn't seem to hear the sighs or whispers that followed him. Fabrizo did. Occasionally, Rose's expression changed, as if she too noticed them.
What changed? Fabrizo wondered. Why all this interest in him? Florence, the boldest of the three, rushed forward, bumping into him. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "How rude of me."
"It's fine," Fabrizo said pleasantly.
She smiled. "I haven't seen you before."
"I just moved here." He held out his hand. "Fabrizo."
"Fabrizo." She said it slowly. "Is that Italian?"
"Yes."
"I'm Florence," she said, shaking his hand. "What must you think of me?" She laughed, lowering her eyes demurely. "What brought you here?"
"My friends." Fabrizo indicated Jack and Rose with a tilt of his head. They didn't notice.
"You know Jack?" Florence leaned toward him. "Really? For how long? Do you know why he came back?"
"We met a couple of years ago," Fabrizo said. "We traveled together for a while, but it was time to stop. To make a home. I don't know anyone else in this country well, so—" He shrugged. "Here I am."
Florence spoke quietly. "What do you know about his wife?"
"Rose? What do you mean?" His tone was light, but the question raised his suspicions. He knew better than to go around talking about her past to anyone.
"Who is she? Where's she from? How did they meet?"
"Well—" Fabrizo was saved from answering by Jack's call of, "Hey, Fabrizo, you ready to leave?"
"Yes," he called back. To Florence he said, "I'm sorry. It was nice to meet you."
The girls watched him leave, lovesick and intrigued.
…..
"Those girls were certainly interested in you today," Rose said.
Fabrizo shrugged and hung another shirt on the clothesline. "I guess."
"You guess? Didn't you see it?"
"Maybe. I didn't think you did, though," he said.
"We saw," she said knowingly. "We thought it was best to leave you alone. It didn't look like something we should interrupt."
"It was nothing," he said. "One girl, she talked to me, but…."
"But what?"
Fabrizo shrugged again. He couldn't find the words to express how he felt. "I'm not looking for that yet," he said. "For girls. I like things the way they are, you know?"
"I understand. I didn't mean to push you," she said. "I just—and Jack as well—we want you to be happy here, as happy as we are."
"I'm fine, Rosa. I'll find a girl," he said. "My own Rosa, maybe soon, maybe not. I can wait. It can't be forced, yes?"
"Yes," Rose agreed. "Si."
He grinned. "Si." He held up one of her dresses. "What's this?"
"Vestito," she answered.
"Good. Bene." He hung up a pair of pants. "And these?"
"Pantaloni. Right?"
Fabrizo nodded. "Right. Corretta."
"Corretta," Rose repeated.
...
Finally, a lead. It wasn't much, just a sighting. Maybe. There was a chance it wasn't them. But that didn't stop Darrin from marching into Cal's office and annoucing, "We found her."
Cal looked at him hard. "You did?"
"Yes." Darri couldn't lose confidence now.
"Where is she? Is she still in New York?" Cal demanded. "Why aren't you off bringing her back?"
"She isn't in New York. They definitely left. She's—"
"I don't want to hear about it," Cal said, with a wave of his hand. "Just go get her."
"Right," Darrin said.
"And remember, don't lay a hand on her," Cal said. "I don't care what you do to him, but none of your men touches her."
"Right. I understand."
Cal leaned back in his chair, hands together under his chin. So, they found Rose. He smiled to himself. He'd known they would. There was nowhere she could go that he couldn't reach.
...
Rose sang in French while they planted the flowers. Jack followed along, mostly, but she could go faster than him. She knew the language better. It had been burned into her brain, year after year for over a decade. He suspected the songs weren't part of the curriculum, though. She was singing words he never expected her to know, much less sing.
"How vulgar," Jack said, clucking his tongue in disapproval. He grinned as he did it. "Where did you learn such songs?"
"At school," Rose replied. "My friend Anna had older brothers who liked to shout things at us, so we searched for something to shout back. She found a book of risque verses hidden in the library, and we translated them. Secretly, of course," she added. "And we didn't fully understand everything we were saying at first."
"You were a bad girl," he said, shaking his head. "I wouldn'tve believed it."
"I wasn't," she said. "I—"
"I'm only teasing, Flower. I like that you did those things. I wish I woulda been there to see it. I would've made them leave you alone, too."
"Wouldn't that have been something?" Rose said. "You and I, together as children? I wouldn't have been able to go anywhere near you, though," she said somberly.
"Sure you woulda. I'd find a way to get close to you," he said. "No matter where you were."
"Even if you were twelve?"
"Even then. I loved you the first time I saw you, Rose. Age wouldn't change that," he said.
"I could have run away with you a long time ago," she mused. "We could have gone to Europe together.
"We still can."
"How?" she asked.
"We'll find a way," Jack said. "We'll save our money for a while, and we'll go."
"What about this place?"
"We'll come back. We can travel and still have a home. I'd rather have it that way," he said.
"That's quite a change from the Jack I met a few months ago."
"A bad change?"
"No," Rose said. "Not at all."
...
If anyone but Jack had come in they would have thought Rose and Fabrizo were crazy. They carried on conversations in two languages. She spoke Italian, and he spoke French. Occasionally, when they couldn't find the right word, they switched back to English.
"Do you miss your family?" Rose asked.
"Yes," he answered. "I miss them very much."
"Do you wish you'd stayed in Italy?"
"No," he said firmly. "I'm glad I left. There was no future for me there. My life, it would have been the same as my father's; I didn't want that."
"I understand," Rose said.
"Do you miss your family?"
"There isn't much to miss. My father and I weren't close. We barely spoke. When he died..." She sighed.
"It was sad?"
"No," she said. "Not the way it should have been. And my mother, she and I aren't much better."
"I'm sorry, Rosa. I didn't mean to upset you."
"You didn't," she said. "I've accepted the way things are. My mother thought I was lucky to marry Cal. She called him the best thing that ever happened to me. How can I miss someone like that?"
"I don't know," Fabrizo said. "My parents wanted me to marry a girl from the village. Dorotea. They had everything arranged with her family."
"What did she think about it?"
"I don't know," he answered. "I never asked her. I ran away with Jack instead."
Rose laughed merrily. "We both ran away with him." At that moment Jack walked into the kitchen. Rose laughed even harder, and Fabrizo joined in.
"What did I do?" Jack asked.
"Nothing," Rose said, wiping tears from her eyes. She pulled him down by his shirt. "Except be you," she said, kissing him.
"You know what she's talking about, Fabrizo?"
"Leave it alone, Jack," Fabrizo replied.
"I don't know if I like you two having so much fun without me," Jack said, feigning indignation. "Every time I leave you alone, you have a better time than before."
"Oh sit down," Rose said, kissing him again. Her eyes shone. He was careful now to keep his tone light, his jokes clear, to make sure she didn't mistake anything he said for anger or disapproval. The incident had been a few weeks ago, but it was still fresh in his ming. She still had nightmares sometimes. He was usually able to calm her down without waking her. When he had to wake her up she didn't seem to remember her dreams. But she clung to him, in spite of the heat.
"So, I heard there's gonna be a picnic this Saturday," Jack said.
"From who?" Rose asked.
"Billy McCullough. He came over to tell us."
"Really?" Rose sounded surprised. "That was nice of him. I wouldn't have expected that."
Fabrizo wanted to ask who this person was, but he sensed he shouldn't. Jack had only tome him the barest details about his life in Chippewa Falls. None of those stories included Lucy.
"Are we going?" Fabrizo asked. "It sounds like fun."
"Do you want to, Rose?" Jack asked.
"I've never been to a picnic," she replied.
"What?" Fabrizo said. "Everyone's been on a picnic."
Rose shook her head. "Not me. Eating on the ground? My mother would have died before allowing me to do something like that."
"We gotta fix this," Jack said. "We have to go."
"Why? Is it really so different from eating lunch inside?" she asked.
"It's better," Jack said.
"Yes," Fabrizo agreed.
"Let's go then," Rose said. She didn't tell them the prospect of being on display for most, if not the whole, town made her nervous. Everyone had been friendly enough, aside from Lucy, but Rose knew they talked. She was an outsider. They wondered who she was, where she came from, why she was with Jack. Their unasked questions crowded around her until she couldn't breathe. It wouldn't have been any better if they had asked them. She had no anaswers to give, at least, no truthful ones. Telling them she was from Philadelphia felt like too much. Even now she expected Cal or one of his emissaries to arrive at any moment. Or wore, she expected to wake up and discover it had all been a long, lovely dream.
...
"Jack?" Rose spoke into the darkness. He lay still next to her, his arm curled around her hips. His cheek rested against her shoulder.
"Mmhmm?" He barely opened his mouth.
"Jack," she said again, louder.
His voice was thick with sleep. "What's wrong?"
"I can't sleep," she said.
Jack rubbed his eyes. "Why not?"
"I don't know. I can't stop thinking. I have this bad feeling, as if something terrible is going to happen."
"Nothing's gonna happen, Rose," he said. "Everything's fine." He moved closder, putting his other arm around her. "You shouldn't worry," he went on.
"This feeling came out of nowhere," she said. "I was perfectly calm earlier."
"I thought you were. You seemed happy."
"I was," Rose said. "I've been very happy. The fears are still there, but I can deal with them better now."
"You still think he'll find us?" Jack asked.
"Yes."
"That won't happen. We're safe here. How could he ever trace us? No-one knows who you are. No-oe but Fabrizo knew where we were going when we left. No-one knows anything about me. I'm a mystery. There's not even a record of me being on the ship. The ticket wasn't in my name, remember? For all he knows, I'm really Steven Smith."
Rose's mouth turned up in a half-smile. "That is a horrible name. Don't use it as your alias," she said.
"I'll be Jacques then," he said, affecting a French accent. "Renowned French painter."
She giggled. "And who will I be?"
Jack continued in the accent. "You will be Nathalie Renaud, my lovely muse and mistress."
"Just your mistress? Is that all I am to you?" She sighed dramatically and put a hand to her forehead. "You'll probably leave me for a younger woman, someone with money, whom you can marry. She won't care about your work, though. You'll miss me, Jacques, but I won't take you back."
"Non, non," he said. "Nathalie, I will never leave you. You are the inspiration. Everything I paint is for you."
"So, I'm not even a woman to you?" Rose dissolved in a fit of giggles. "What are we doing?"
"I think we're playing," Jack said. "You can't tell me you've never done that."
"I've played. It was never like this, however."
He propped himself up on his elbow. "Feel any better?"
"Yes, actually, I do," Rose said. She smiled up at him. "Thank you."
He kissed her. "Always."
"I'm sorry I woke you up," she said.
"Don't be." He kissed her again. She put an arm around him. The kiss deepened.
"Jack," she whispered.
"Yes?"
"Can we go swimming again?"
"Sure," he said.
They ran through the night, holding hands. This time Rose wasn't afraid of the water. She dove in without hesitation. She came up gasping at the cold. How could the night be so hot but the lake be so cold? Jack swam toward her. "Don't go out too far," he warned.
"Why not?" She held her hands out to him.
"I'd hate to lose you," he said.
"Because of your work?"
Jack grinned. "Oui," he said in the accent. "Without you, Nathalie, cherie, there is no work. Without the work, there is no Jacques."
"All you care about is your work," she said.
"I am an artiste. We're all the same."
"No," Rose said. She pulled him closer. "You aren't like that, Jack."
"Most of them are. Maybe it's cause I'm not a very good artist," he said.
"Don't ever say that. You aren't good, Jack. You're wonderful. You have a gift. Someday, other people will see it too."
"I hope so, but if they don't, I'll be alright. I don't need to be famous. I thought I did. I certainly wanted to be, before, but now, it's not important."
"You will be anyway," Rose predicted.
"Maybe. It doesn't matter," Jack said. "I've got you. I've got time to draw, a good place to sleep. Food. That's more than enough."
"I'm glad I fell in love with Jack and not Jacques."
The sheets were col against their bare skin when they settled back in bed. Rose lay against Jack, her arms over his. The bad feeling was gone. For the moment, anyway.
AN: Thanks for the reviews, everyone!
