A flower patch beside Rose was in full bloom. Never again would Jack smell the flowers. Everything reminded her of him and there was nothing she could do about it. When she felt the rain, she thought about clouds; when she thought about clouds, she thought about angels; when she thought about angels, she thought about Jack. It was a vicious cycle that wouldn't end. Furthermore, she was still sleeping on the streets. She had been for more than a week. She spent a tiny bit of money on food each day, but she was still running out very quickly. Rose was tired and felt old. She was coming down with a chest cold and was too weak to wonder around like she usually did. Chills ran down her back and her head felt hot, the telltale signs of a fever. When she started coughing up blood, she knew something was seriously wrong.

I have to get out of the streets, she told herself. When her monthly curse came, she searched high and low for rags to sop up the blood. Her underskirts were ruined, but she was too cold without them to throw them away. It had been weeks since her last bath and she knew that she reeked. Her hair had lost its bounce and dark circles appeared under her eyes. Her knees were so weak, that she collapsed on the street one day and was nearly hit by a carriage. That's when she knew she would need some medicine. She finally found a doctor that wouldn't charge her for the examination, but when he told her the cost of the medicine, she knew she would never eat again. She paid him for it, and that was the end of her money.

Every time she thought about selling the heart of the ocean, a little voice inside her head told her not to. Not only would it be like accepting help from Cal, but that diamond was the only memory she had of Jack. And she wasn't ready to let go of that yet.

A hard knot lied where her heart should have been, and it had yet to loosen. Every time she thought of Jack (which was all the time) the knot would tighten. She always felt like crying; she did often. What if he had just held on a few more minutes…then none of this would have happened.

What if? Those words drove her insane. They ate at her soul. When she was pacing the streets, she would indulge herself in the fantasy that she was on her way home to see Jack.

What if she really was? Wouldn't that be heavenly?

What if…?

Just pretend…

Play like…

She had full conversations with him carefully planned out in her head. She would daydream and invent scenarios where she'd bump in to him on the street and he would tell her that he hadn't died; just blacked out or something. Maybe he wasn't really dead! Yes, that's it! He's still alive, she would tell herself. But she knew the truth. Jack was gone, and he wasn't coming back—ever. And that realization was difficult to deal with.

When she was feeling a bit better—not fully recovered, but still better—Rose wandered over to the train station. She liked watching people getting off trains and running into the arms of loved ones. It made her feel like there was still some good in the world. As she was staring at them, tears filled up in her eyes as she wondered, why don't I have that? What did Jack do to deserve this? What did I do to deserve this? Nothing would ever be good again. She was leaning up against a support beam just outside, watching a husband and wife reunite, kissing and hugging, each eagerly recounting their experiences while the other had been absent, when heard a name being called.

"Ms. Dawson? That you?"

Suddenly, Rose remembered that Dawson was her new name, and she turned around.

"David!" she cried, recognizing the man in the carriage as the one who had given her a ride about 2 weeks ago. He was a man whom she neither liked nor disliked, but at least was familiar to her.

"Have you been at the station all this time?"

"No," she said slowly, "I've been around. I just came back to…" she let the statement hang.

"So, where are ya living now?" he asked, as he got out of the cart and tied up his horse to a poll. Then he walked over to her and smiled.

"Well, I'm sort of…between homes at the moment."

"You mean you're still living on the streets! Now, now, don't cry. There's nothing to cry about." But she couldn't stop. "Alright, then, get in. But my boss will be angry if I keep giving people rides for free."

"Where are you taking me?" she asked after he had untied the horse and the cart was moving again.

"A widow's house. You said you was a widow, right?"

"Yes," she lied.

"Well, it aint the greatest place in the world. And Momma Brady will be mad if I bring you there. Aint much room, you see."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" She wondered if maybe he had a hidden agenda.

"I'm a good Christian man," he said. "Here we are." He helped Rose out of the car and she stared at the worn, four story, brick building. A medal plaque on the side read "Brady House for Widows: Founded 1856."

David walked up to the top of the steps and knocked three times, then turned to his side so say something to Rose, when he realized she was still waiting by the carriage. He motioned for her to join him, which she did reluctantly. Finally, the door opened and middle aged woman was smiling in the threshold.

"Why David!" she cried happily in a thick southern accent, "What are you doing here? Coming 'round for some free dinner I'd assume. Oh, and who's this? You've brought me another one!"

"This is Ms. Dawson. The late Ms. Dawson."

The woman hung her head and said sadly, "I'm sorry to hear that, Ms…?"

"Rose. It's Rose."

David looked at her quickly, liking the sound of her name.

Then the woman looked sharply at David. "Well aren't you going to introduce her to me, Davie?"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry." He chucked and rubbed his neck. "Uhh…Miss Rose, this is Amelia Brady. She runs the widow's house."

"That's right, that's right, that's right," she said, extending her hand, which Rose shook politely. "But y'all can just call me 'Momma Brady.' Everyone else does, after all. Well don't just stand there! Come in, come in, come in." Rose timidly stepped inside the building, which was much nicer on the inside than it was on the out, though still rather shabby. Momma Brady began to give Rose the grand tour. She showed her the dinning room, which was a room with one long table and stools all around. Next to that was the living room, which was really just some old chairs around a fireplace. There was a kitchen, and Momma Brady's room. The next three floors were all tenant's rooms. Each floor had 3 bedrooms and a bathroom with a two toilets and a single bath.

Then Momma Brady began to explain the rules in her endearing southern accent. "Now, there's two to three women per room. You'll probably have to be housed with a threesome, seeing as you're new. The mattresses are straw, but the blankets are thick. The first thing you're gonna have to do is find yourself a job. This aint no free ride. You'll give a small bit of your pay to keep the house going, but the rest you keep. When you have enough money, you move out into your own apartment to make room for more widows. This may take months, but probably years. Everyone has to help out. You'll get a chore that you have to do every day for a week, and then y'all will switch. You'll be helping out with laundry your first week. Understand so far?"

"Yes, Momma Brady." Rose was very well-mannered.

"Good. Now, dinner is served at seven and we always say Grace. Sunday is the day of rest and there aint no chores. Whether or not you go to church is up to you. But I havn't missed a single service since my husband Louis, rest his soul, died ten years ago. Now, while you're livin' under my roof, you're gonna have to follow the rules. This aint no boarding house. You gotta tell me before you go out somewhere. And we only call each other by first names. None of that "Mrs." stuff. Our husbands are gone, and we aint gonna have them constant reminders of what we no loner have. You won't ask them women about their husbands without their permission. They'll talk to you when they're ready. And same goes for you."

Rose gawked at Momma Brady. She found her fascinating. She reminded her of Molly Brown. Same build, same accent, and very colorful. The hair was different, and Momma Brady was much less obnoxious. "I understand. Thank you so much for your hospitality."

"Of course, Rose. Say, how old are you?" She peered at Rose through her glasses.

"Seventeen." She was reluctant to admit her young age.

"Well, you could knock me over with a feather! Mind if I ask you one question about your husband?"

"I suppose you can…"

"When'd he die?"

"Three weeks past."

"Oh, you poor, poor, poor thing." She wrapped her chubby arms around Rose, and Rose found herself hugging Momma Brady back. She finally let go, and Rose could breathe again. "I guess I'll put you up on the top floor. I expect you should be happy, happy, happy up there." Rose thought it was cute how Brady said everything three times.

Rose got very tired when she finally got to the last of the steps leading to the fourth floor.

"You'll get used to it. In a few weeks, you'll be as strong as the rest of us," Momma Brady told her. As they walked through the short corridor, and girl came out of her room, and nearly ran into them.

"Whoopsie!" Cried the girl. She seemed a little tipsy.

Momma Brady seemed to sense Roses speculation. "Don't worry. That's just how Nancy is. Nancy, this is Rose. She's new, not much older than you, and will be sharing a room with you and Mabel."

"Well hey! How ya doing?" Asked Nancy, happily.

"Not too well, considering she just lost her husband," Momma Brady intervened. "Now Nancy, please take Rose to the linen closet to find her some fresh clothes. I've some business to attend to, so I'll see y'all at dinner. Bye now."

"Bye, Momma Brady," Rose said, not wanting to be left alone with the happy crazy sounding person.

Momma Brady walked down the hall and took a deep breath before starting down the stairs again.

"Well come on, Rosie!" cried Nancy, grabbing her hand and pulling her down the hall to a deep closet.

"It's Rose, actually." Rose could tell already that Nancy was going to be very aggravating.

"Whatever." Nancy bent down inside the closet and opened an old looking trunk. She fished though it and emptied the clothes onto the floor. "Will this fit?" She held it up to Rose. "Too small," and she chucked it across the floor. Rose hurried to get it and folded it neatly. "Let's see," said Nancy, chewing her lip. "Umm, this and this," she pulled out two dresses and tossed them to Rose. "And these." She handed her a skirt and blouse and some underskirts. Then she looked down at Rose's feet. "Yikes! You'll need some shoes." She shifted herself to the other side of the closet. "Here," she gave her a pair of plain shoes with leather soles. "You'll have to stuff some newspaper in them so they fit."

Nancy then proceeded to shove the remaining clothes back in the trunk. Worried about what Momma Brady would think, she leaned down and carefully folded all of the clothes.

"Well what did you do that for?" asked Nancy. "It'll just get messed up again, anyway. Well, come on." Nancy walked through an open door and Rose followed. "This is my room. Our room, now," and she gave Rose an affectionate shove. She looked out the window which overlooked the courtyard, while Nancy slipped out of the room. Moments later, she came back, dragging in another cot. "Where do you want me to put it?" she asked.

"Could we put it by the window?" she asked.

"Yup." And together the moved it into place. Nancy went to get some bedding and Rose skimmed the room. It wasn't much. The floor was bare, and so were the walls, save for the door and window. In one corner was Nancy's bed. Rose turned around and saw another bed, with a lumpy coverlet upon it. She looked closer and saw it moving up and down with breathing. She inched herself closer and peeled back he quilt hesitantly. A wrinkled old woman, was sleeping underneath, and Rose would have thought her to be dead had it not been for her breathing and the absence of the death smell.

"That's just Mabel." Said Nancy. Startled, Rose spun around.

"What's wrong with her?" The girls started laying the sheets and quilt upon the bed.

"Momma Brady says that Mabel's husband died a three years ago. She was living with her daughter until she died too, a little less than a year ago. Her son-in-law brought her here. Didn't want to take care of her. Poor thing hasn't gotten out of bed since. She only eats a little bit. Doesn't talk. And the only time you see her move is when she pulls the pan under her cover to relieve herself."

"My God," Rose gasped. It dawned on her that she might not be the only one with problems. "Isn't there anything we can do?"

"Oh, believe me. They've tried everything. Nothing works."

"But I thought Momma Brady wanted everyone to earn their keep."

"Momma Brady is much too good to throw her out just because she's a sack of potatoes!" Then Nancy did a little spin and fell laughing upon her bed. Rose wondered how a widow could ever be so happy.

"May I ask," Rose began, remembering the rules about asking first, "What's your story? What happened to your husband?"

"Well, I'm not actually a widow," Nancy admitted. Rose looked puzzled. "I ran away from home and into a marriage with this man, Sam. Wasn't two weeks after the wedding that I started getting…hit."

"He'd hit you?"

"Yeah. So I ran away. But he found me and messed me up a little. See?" She indicated a scar on her forehead. "That's where he beat me with the back of his gun."

"Oh my," Rose said, and tried to resist the urge to touch it.

"Yeah. But that's all in the past. I ran away again and Momma Brady found me and took me in. That was a little more than a year ago."

"Wow." Rose couldn't believe that a girl this happy could have been through so much. Rose asked Nancy her age. Nancy said she was twenty-one, and was surprised to hear that Rose was only seventeen.

"May I ask you about your husband?"

"Well, I don't think I'm ready yet," Rose said, taking advantage of Momma Brady's rules.

"Okay. Hey! Dinner will be ready any minute! Come on!" Nancy skipped down the stairs and an exhausted Rose followed, annoyed by the girl, but feeling incredibly fortunate.

&&&&

At dinner, Rose was extremely polite and quiet. Most women introduced themselves and started conversations while she nodded and accepted their greetings. She was completely terrified that she would say the wrong thing, offend someone, be kicked out, and alone again.

After the meal and the long climb up to the fourth floor, Rose finally got out of her old clothes and put on the long man's shirt that was to serve as a nightgown. She sighed happily when she finally laid down upon the bed. She wasn't used to sleeping on lumpy straw, but it smelled nice and anything was better than cold stone. She snuggled under her covers and waited for sleep. But it wouldn't come. She looked out the window and up at the heavens. A few stars were visible, and she wondered if Jack was a star now. She couldn't help but cry when she thought of him. "Oh, Jack," she whispered almost inaudibly, "I miss you so much."

Her voice cracked and she didn't want to wake Nancy, so she jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom down the hall. She leaned in front of the mirror hanging on the wall in front of the mirror and saw a medicine cabinet in the reflection. She turned around sharply and tried not to be too loud when she yanked it open and began rummaging through it. At last, she found what she was looking for; a small blade. She picked a rag off the floor and sat in the bathtub. Nervously, she let the blade hover above the skin on her arm, a few inches above her wrist. Then, with a trembling hand, Rose touched the razor blade to her skin dragged it across a little less than an inch. In pain, she dropped the blade and grabbed the rag, holding it against her cut to stop the bleeding.

Whenever Rose was in pain, she cut herself. When her father died, when she was sent away to boarding school, and when she got engaged to Cal. She couldn't stop. It was just something she did. Rose squinted against the pain and tried not to cry out. "Oh, Jack," she whimpered. "Please…come back!" Her tears were inevitable, and she laid there, a pitiful image, as once again her sorrow overcame her.