Rose was half-right. Cal wasn't running out of patience; he ran out months ago, and now he was putting most of his energy into maintaining an even disposition. When they could no longer say Rose was ill he and Ruth began claiming she was at the country estate, recovering. They described her illness in vague terms, never putting a name to it. Once or twice Ruth hinted at a possible miscarriage, garnering sympathy and silencing questions in one stroke. Rose was thought of as an invalid among their friends, but Cal knew she had to be seen eventually. An ill, delicate wife was one thing, but a reclusive, invisible wife was quite another.
The problem, of course, was he simply had no idea where to find her. That had been the problem since they left New York. He sent Darrin and his men into the countryside, searching for clues, but nothing turned up. They checked ships leaving New York and Boston, trains bound for the West, ships leaving California, all with no results. Jack and Rose had vanished; finding them became more unlikely with each passing day.
Cal knew what he had to do. He avoided it as long as he could. Darrin kept pressing him to do it. "We won't ever find her otherwise," he said. "Is that what you want?" Months of dead-ends had left Darrin frustrated but more committed than ever. It was no longer about getting the job done or collecting his money; it was about winning.
"I know we have to do it," Cal said. "Start slowly. Be as discreet as you can. Don't use her name at first. A photograph is enough. Stay out of the major newspapers. I want to keep this quiet as long as I can."
"Right," Darrin said. "I'll get started."
…
They didn't take much with them; the trip wouldn't be long, and no-one wanted to carry more than they had to. They caught a ride to the train depot. As they bumped along in the bed of a wagon, Rose grinned and held Jack's hand. She knew she'd be sore by the end of the trip, but she didn't care. Her hand wasn't as tan as Jack's; next to him she still looked like an indoor girl. Thanks to the salve he'd given her the blisters on her hands were healed. She didn't have callouses; her hands didn't compare to his at all, really, but they weren't quite as smooth as they once were.
"Whatcha thinking about?" Jack asked.
"I'm not really thinking," Rose said. "I'm just happy."
He smiled. "Me too."
"This trip won't be like the last one," she said. "We'll actually see the city a little."
"Yes, we will," Fabrizo said, startling them both. They'd all but forgotten he was there. "Or I'll go without you," he added genially.
"There's no need for that," Jack said. "I want to explore too. When we went to sell the ring, that was my first time in Chicago. I kinda wished we'd stayed longer."
"Why didn't you say anything?" Rose asked.
"I figured we shouldn't be out in such a crowded place," Jack replied. "You never know who might see us."
"I don't think we have to worry about that anymore," Rose said. "He doesn't have people waiting in every city." She said it, but she didn't quite believe it. Maybe that's what Cal was waiting for; maybe the moment they let their guard down, there he would be.
…
They paid for sleeper compartments on the train, much to Fabrizo's delight. "I know you like to sleep sitting up, Jack," he said. "But I don't."
"I'm not picky," Jack shrugged.
"Neither am I," Rose said. "I'm glad to have a bed this time, though. There's no sense in lying about it." Fabrizo brought it up first, so she felt comfortable admitting it. She didn't worry it made her sound spoiled. "Even if the two of us can barely squeeze into it," she joked.
"We'll manage," Jack said. He put an arm around her and kissed her hair. "It's not the worst place we've slept."
This time there were no other passengers to watch. Jack settled for drawing from his imagination at first. He pressed himself into the corner, hiding the paper from view. Rose sat by the window reading. Fabrizo took out a deck of cards for a game of Solitaire. The quiet sounds of their activities became almost rhythmic. Jack liked it.
He let his mind wander, not consciously deciding what to draw. It came to him in pieces. First, there was the tree, a greet sweeping willow. Next, the water. He added a sprinkling of waterlilies. Then he started on her. Jack tried not to put Rose in every drawing, and most of the time, he didn't. The Rose Drawings were special. He drew her as she was, while she slept, while she sat basking in the sun, or eyes sparkling with pleasure, flushed from dancing or from him. Sometimes he drew her exactly as he saw her; other times, it was a sort of future version, a Rose with no fears at all, in a life they'd made. That's what he was drawing then.
Jack didn't intend to add himself, but his hand seemed to have a mind of its own. He frowned at his half-formed image. It wasn't right. It never was, not even when he used a mirror. He kept drawing, frowning more as he went. He didn't notice Rose move to the seat next to him. "It can't be that bad," she said. She looked at him, her book still open.
"Yeah, it can," he said, not unpleasantly.
"You're too hard on yourself, Jack."
"I try to keep things in perspective," he replied.
"May I see it?"
"When it's finished," he said. "I'm not ready to show it."
"Alright." Rose touched his cheek. "Don't frown so hard."
….
Fabrizo claimed the top bunk. "Why do you always get it?" Jack asked, half-seriously.
"I got there first."
Rose watched them with amusement. "Does it matter?"
"No," Fabrizo said as Jack said, "Yes." Rose raised an eyebrow. "I see," she said.
"Not really," Jack said. "It's not important."
"If you'd gotten here first, you wouldn't say that," Fabrizo taunted.
"You have to get down sometime," Jack replied.
"No, I don't," Fabrizo said gleefully. "I'm all ready for bed. Good-night, Rosa!"
"Good-night, Fabrizo," she said. To Jack she added, "Will you turn out the light?"
"Sure."
They changed quickly in the dark. Rose put Jack's shirt on over her nightgown. It wasn't revealing. She purposely chose the most matronly thing she owned, but having Fabrizo in the room changed everything. He wouldn't look at her, not like that. He'd never touch her. She wasn't worried about that possibility. Modesty had been drilled into her since she was a child; it was difficult to let go of those lessons. And Cal always worried someone was looking at her, even as he took pride in it. He never knew what he wanted.
Rose pushed all thoughts of him away as she climbed into bed. Jack gave her the space next to the wall. "So you won't fall out," he said. She didn't argue. She was too tired, and what was the point? Why not let him have his way if it made him happy? The bunk was only slightly bigger than the cat seat they'd slept on. They lay pressed together, Jack's arms around her, his chest against her back. She imagined she felt his heart beating, or maybe she really did feel it. It was hard to be sure.
"You alright?" Jack whispered.
"Fine."
He kissed the base of her jaw. "I kinda like this."
"Don't Jack," she said. "We aren't alone."
"I know." He chastely kissed her cheek. "Not starting anything. I promise, Rose."
"Good." Rose put her hands over his. "I love you, you know."
"I had some idea," he whispered back. "I love you too, Rose."
….
"Where are we going first?" Rose said eagerly. They stood outside the train station, holding their bags. The mid-morning traffic moved around them. "To get breakfast," Fabrizo said.
"We already ate," Jack replied. "You slept through it."
"Wasn't my fault," Fabrizo grumbled.
"Don't right," Rose said. "We can get something to eat. It's not really a problem, is it?" She looked at Jack, who shook his head. "No, it's not," he said. "Pick a direction."
"This way," Fabrizo said, heading toward a large diner sign.
"We weren't really fighting," Jack said. "You don't hafta worry."
"I wasn't worried," Rose said.
"You sounded like you might be. That's just something we do. You know. You've heard us."
"I know," she said.
Jack put his hand under her chin gently. "You alright?"
"Jack, I'm fine. We should catch up with Fabrizo."
He studied her face for a moment. "Yeah," he said.
She took his head. "Come on."
…
Some of the paintings were spectacular. There was one Jack would gladly have spent the rest of the day gazing at. Others were good; they had potential, while a few were simply dreadful. It painted Jack to look at them.
"Isn't art—uh—subjective?" Fabrizo said. He hesitated. "Yes, that's the word."
"It was," Rose said. "And you're right. Every piece has something in it."
"I don't think so," Jack said.
"You don't?" Rose sounded surprised.
"Look at this one," he said pointing. "See how flat it is? The clumsy brush strokes?"
"Maybe that's intentional," Rose said.
"They painted badly on purpose?" Jack was unconvinced. "Why? It's not—"
"Pretty?" Fabrizo said.
"No, it's empty," Jack said. "Maybe bad isn't the right word. Unskilled."
"Superficial," Rose said. "It just stays on the surface, never showing us anything."
"Yeah," Jack said. "Exactly." He smiled, pleased she understood. "It's like what we were saying about that other one we liked. It showed us something."
"Let's try the sculptures," Fabrizo suggested.
"Yes, let's," Rose agreed.
"We have to get something done today," Jack reminded them. "We can see a few, not the whole wing."
"He acts like this wasn't his idea," Rose said in a loud whisper.
Fabrizo nodded. "You'd think he had to be dragged in here."
"We'll probably have to drag him out."
Jack crossed his arms in mock annoyance. "I hear you," he said.
"Heavens, no!" Rose gasped, putting a hand to her heart. Her voice echoed in the silent room. A security guard turned his stare on them. She giggled, holding the pose. "We'll get in trouble," Jack whispered loudly. He kissed her upturned palm.
"We're moving on," Fabrizo called out. "No need to worry."
The guard's expression didn't change as he shifted his gaze away from them. "That really made us look less suspicious," Jack said. He and Rose laughed. "Let's try not to get thrown out," he added.
"I've never been thrown out of anywhere," Rose said. "It would be a new experience."
"It's not a good one," Fabrizo said.
"No," Jack agreed.
"And you two have?" she said, intrigued. "Where were you?"
"Paris—" Fabrizo began.
"Nowhere," Jack said.
"Dublin—"
"Nowhere," Jack repeated, carefully pronouncing each letter.
"Liverpool," Fabrizo mouthed.
"I see you," Jack said. "Quit it."
"But I want to know," Rose said. "That's a side of your adventures I haven't heard about."
"Not here," Jack said.
"Later?"
"Maybe," he replied. "If we've got nothing better to talk about."
Jack was caught up in a sculpture when Fabrizo said, "He doesn't want you to know about this times."
"I noticed," Rose said.
"I shouldn'tve kept going with it. We didn't do anything wrong," he assured her. "Just drank too much and got loud. Disturbing people, you know?"
"I understand." After a moment she said, "I don't think less of him for it. I don't expect him to be perfect."
"He wants to be perfect for you," Fabrizo said. Rose gazed at Jack, letting her eyes move across him. He was so beautiful. Feeling her stare, he turned his head and grinned. Rose smiled back, her heart fluttering as if it were the first time.
…
Fabrizo knew she wasn't Lucy, but he couldn't help watching her anyway. She looked so much like her. He tried to imagine her there, in the crowded coffee shop, but he couldn't. She refused to leave the path by the lake. What was she doing now? It was past lunchtime, or for her it was. Wednesday was the day she did the washing. He smiled, imagining her in the lake. She didn't wash clothes there, but that didn't matter. He liked the image.
Jack's voice broke through his musings. "What?" Fabrizo said. He looked around, not sure where he was anymore.
"I said, we'll get a few more things after lunch." Jack tilted his head. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Fabrizo said. "Why would you say that?"
"You seem…not all here," Jack said.
"No, I'm here. See? What else do we need?"
Rose got out the list. "Coats," she read. "Clothes."
"Ah, new clothes," Fabrizo sighed. "That will be nice."
"To impress your girlfriend?" Jack teased.
"There is no girl," Fabrizo insisted.
"If you teach him, Jack, he'll never tell us," Rose said.
"Maybe I want new clothes because I've never had any," Fabrizo said. "Did you think of that?"
"Who said we're buying them new?" Jack replied. "More hand-me-downs for you, my friend."
Fabrizo groaned. "Just once."
"You've never had new clothes?" Rose said. "Clothes that only you wore?"
Fabrizo shook his head. "No, Rosa. I always got my brother's old clothes or my cousin's."
"I got new clothes," Jack said. "I was an only child, though. There wasn't anyone to give me anything. I didn't get them often. I haven't had any in a long time."
Rose didn't know what to say. She thought of the closetsful of clothes sewn especially for her, all left behind without a second thought. How much had it all cost? It was a question she'd never had to ask. She almost never handled cash. Everything was paid for by someone else. At most, she was given letters of credit or checks with someone else's signature already on them. Cal always left the amount blank. She could write in anything she wanted. She could take the money and—and what? Run away? Rose had stared at one such blank check for a long time before finally putting it away in her purse.
Mentally, she calculated how much money they still had. It was more than enough for the rest of the list, even with brand new clothes for all of them. But Jack didn't want to spend it all; he'd made that clear. She agreed with his restraint, but maybe they didn't have to deny themselves completely. Rose touched the cold stone of the ring in her purse, reassuring herself it was still there.
….
Most of what they bought that afternoon was shipped home. They would pick it up at the depot before going back out. How they would get everything the few miles out of town was a problem Jack decided to solve when they came to it. They needed horses, after all. What better reason to buy some?
"If we try, we can finish up in the morning and head back tomorrow night," Jack said.
"Why the hurry?" Fabrizo asked.
"I just think we should get back," Jack replied.
"Are you worried?" Rose asked.
"No." He gave her a grin. "They won't hold all our stuff at the depot forever, though."
"You're probably right," she said.
"Let's see more of the city if we're leaving so soon," Fabrizo suggested. "The art museum was fun—"
"So we should find another one," Jack said.
"Or we could find a party," Fabrizo countered. "Music. Dancing." He looked at Rose for approval. "It could be fun," she said.
"Who're you gonna dance with, Fabrizo?" Jack said. "Your girl's not here."
"There is no girl," Fabrizo said.
"Sure there isn't," Rose said.
"Rosa, I didn't think you'd join him."
"I'm on your side about the party," she said. "What do you say, Jack?"
"Guess I'm outnumbered," he said.
…..
The dance hall looked a bit rougher than Jack would have liked. Rose and Fabrizo, however, didn't seem to notice. They joined the revelry, not caring they knew no-one else there. Fabrizo went off in search of a girl to dance with. Jack found drinks. "Here you are," he said, handing Rose a tall glass of beer.
"Do I get to show you how to drink again?" she teased.
The air was thick and hot. Beads of sweat dotted their necks even before they started dancing. Rose's hair was damp around the edges. Jack rolled up his sleeves. The music was so loud they had to yell to hear each other. They weren't talking much, though; they didn't need to. Jack held her close as they moved with the music. Their eyes stayed together; their bodies moved seamlessly. Rose's training had made her a good dancer, but this was different. This wasn't remembering steps and going where her partner led; this was moving with her partner in steps they made up as they went along. Impulsively, she leaned up and kissed him.
"Why'd you do that?" he asked. Rose just smiled and shrugged.
Finally, the band played a slow song. They leaned into each other, glad for the rest, but not wanting to stop the dance just yet. Rose laid her head on Jack's shoulder. His arms encircled her. She closed her eyes. The smell of him was indelibly imprinted on her memory. Even in the crush of bodies, she could pick him out.
…
Jack twirled her at the top of the stairs. Rose laughed. "Jack, no," she pleaded, gasping for breath. The room was already spinning from her attempt to out-drink him.
"Ssshh," he said loudly. "We'll wake everyone up."
"Oh, will we?" she laughed.
"Yeah."
"Jack, you're yelling," she said in a stage whisper.
"Am I?"
Rose nodded. "Quiet," she said, holding her hand up to his face. She closed it slowly. This simple gesture sent him into a fit of giggles. "What was that?" he asked.
"I don't know. I've never done it before."
It took several tries to get their room unlocked. They left the light off. Discarding clothes as they went, they struggled to the bed, finally collapsing onto it. The springs protested shrilly, and they dissolved into laughter again. Rose put her finger to his mouth. "Sssh."
Jack kissed her hand.
"I had fun today," she said.
"Me too."
They curled into each other like kittens, exhaustion overtaking them. "Jack?" she murmured.
"Uh-hmm?"
And they were asleep.
…..
Rose left the note in plain view. With any luck, she thought, he'd still be asleep when she returned. Getting up early wasn't easy. Her head hurt; her eyes burned from the light. She almost abandoned her plan, but the thought of seeing them surprised spurred her on. Jack wouldn't like her selling another ring, but he'd understand why she did it, and there was still plenty more jewelry to sell, if they had to. Besides, she wouldn't spend all the money in one morning.
Jack was sound asleep when she slipped out. A gust of air came in through the door, sending the note to the floor behind the desk.
