Before Jack and Rose knew it, they had docked in New York and taken the train up to Wisconsin.
It had been an unusually quiet trip with no upset, and for most of the journey, they slept.
Sleep felt like the only release that they could find from the stress - and turmoil - they had witnessed over the last few days. Memories surfaced, and snaps of the most traumatic moments, but sleep was warm and free of current worries- mostly. It usually offered a calm silence which they could relish in. They were too exhausted to imagine much.
Rose was plagued by memories only, and at night she would find herself wrapped up in panic over the money, Cal, and the disaster- sometimes, she would wake up with a jolt, crying.
Jack had worse symptoms and had developed a bitter cough. He struggled to fall asleep, yet found it hard to wake up. He was always cold, and refused to let either of "his girls" out of his sight. He hardly ate. He seemed constantly suffocated by his worst fears, and Rose came to realise that only time could heal that.
Despite it all, they were happy. Happy to have survived, mostly, but overwhelmingly relieved to be together. Nothing had hurt more than be separated; they had both found comfort in each other.
Cora seemed less devastated than what Jack had expected, but Rose only said, "when I lost my father, I was the same. The hope children hold always pulls them through." It seemed sufficient enough to calm his concerns.
By the time they had reached Wisconsin, both Jack and Rose felt a little more rejuvenated. They were certainly exhausted, and torn up about the past, but the journey had helped separate the end of one path and the start of another. Everything felt balanced.
After embarking the train and taking a cab to a small village outside of Chippewa Falls (calling it a village, to Rose at least, seemed a liberty), they found the ruins of the Dawson house.
As they pulled up outside, Rose's eyes widened with shock, "oh, Jack, are you sure?"
He only laughed at the charred face of the house and missing windows, "don't worry, the front of the house was much more damaged than the back. Come, look."
He had led them out of the cab, and around to the back of the building. While the front looked near-collapse, only a few metres back the white boards were preserved.
"I won't go inside until I'm sure the supports are up to scratch, but I'll go into town tomorrow and see if any of my old friends are about. Hopefully, someone will be willing to help."
Rose sighed, relieved that Jack had a plan and wouldn't be put in unnecessary danger. If anything were to happen to him, again, she wasn't sure that she would be able to forgive herself.
They went to the barn beside the house and went inside. It was completely empty inside, aside from a bale of dusty straw and the askew stall dividers. Rose placed their few belongings on the bale and tried to give Jack a reassuring smile.
"Here," he awkwardly placed the luggage onto the floor and split the bale open with his pen knife, tossing the contents into one stall, "it will only take me a week or two to fix the house up."
"Jack," Rose gave a hearty laugh, "don't you think that's a bit ambitious?"
He grinned, "a new floor, a wall or two, and some windows- between myself a two other guys, I think we'll manage-" before he could finish, the air was snatched from his lungs. He broke into a coughing fit, bent over, and Rose went to his side.
"Jack?" She rubbed his back and shoulders, "is it the dust? Do you need to step outside?"
He shook his head, but staggered to the barn entrance regardless.
Rose went with him, and continued to rub his back until he finished. When he finally did, Jack looked too pale for her liking.
"Oh, Jack," she wrapped her arms around his neck, "I think we need to find a doctor-"
"Rose," his voice was unusually sharp, "I'm fine."
He watched with horror as she visibly flinched. He took her hand, and tried to smile, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you- why don't we just see if this clears up?"
She nodded awkwardly, and they went about setting up the barn for the night in silence.