Josephine took her time getting ready for school that day. As she pulled on an old navy blue dress under a cream sweater, and swept her long auburn hair back into a bun at the base of her neck, she smiled to hear her mother's laughter downstairs. It was a sound that she had not heard very often and she was glad to have it. Her mother had never been particularly melancholy, but had never been super cheerful either, except on rare occasions, and to hear laughter on a normal Thursday morning lifted her daughter's heart. Although still unsure of how to act around Jack, she was glad that he was here. Josephine finally had a father, just like all of the other kids in her class.
After making her bed and packing up her things, she heads back downstairs. She finds that her mother is getting ready for the day, and Jack is in the sitting room. Still feeling shy in his presence, she sits down on the edge of the sofa with her book bag balanced on her knee.
"Hi, Josephine," Jack greets her, turning her way.
"Hello," she responds back with a small smile.
"I wanted to apologize again about your painting. I didn't mean to ruin a surprise." He's sitting relaxed with one arm leaning on the back of the sofa. He leans forward then, as if he's sharing a secret. "I'll let you in on something, and maybe you can help me," he says, and Jo's interest is peaked. She finds herself leaning forward as well.
"I am planning to redecorate the upstairs bedroom for your mother. I don't think its fair for her to be cooped up in the smallest room down here. Do you have some ideas for how I should do it up? What are her favorite colors? Does she have some favorite things or patterns I can put in there?"
Jo feels her own eyes light up with the excitement of being involved in a surprise for Rose. "Oh, I have a million ideas!" she says conspiratorially. "Momma loves lavender and blue and yellow, but no pink! She loves wild flowers and lavender, and if you do roses, make sure they're the white ones. Oh, can we get her some soft fluffy blankets? She's been using the same old one since forever."
Jack smiles at Josephine, glad of her enthusiasm, and makes a mental note of all that the little girl is telling him.
"Well, I'll find some paint first and then maybe at the weekend we can go out together and find some more things for her, how does that sound?" he asks, with a chuckle. "Maybe when its finished you can hang that painting your making her in the room for when we show her."
"Jack, that's brilliant!" Jo can't help herself as she throws her self forward, her arms around Jack's neck, all shyness forgotten. Rose has just arrived back into the room to witness this moment, and Jack is taken aback at first before finally moving to embrace the young girl as well. With his daughter in his arms, his heart feels suddenly full to bursting, and he never thought he'd feel this way in his life— this adoring of a child— this paternal. He has to struggle to keep the emotion from causing him to tear up.
Rose clears her throat from the foyer, getting both of their attention and directing a questioning look toward Jack, and Jo draws back, feeling embarrassed. "Ready to go, you two?" She asks, as she buttons up her wool jacket and pulls on a pair of gloves. Her hair is piled in a bun atop her head, and curls are already starting to escape. Jo has always thought that her mother was the most beautiful woman in the world— like a moving picture actress. She knew she would never be as beautiful as Rose. She was too odd and quirky and boyish. Other girls in her class made fun of her old clothes and long reddish hair all the time and how she was always covered in paint or charcoal, despite her effort to fit in. The only person who was really nice to her was William, and that didn't count because he was a boy and older than her. Now at least, they couldn't use her not having a father against her like they usually did— she had a real family now.
Josephine stands, smoothing her skirt back out and heads toward her mother, bag in tow. "Yes, Momma." She pulls on her own thick coat and boots, letting her mother wind a scarf around her neck as she locates her own gloves. Jack makes his way over as well, shrugging on his long coat and opening the door to step outside.
It had snowed a fresh layer overnight, and the air smells crisp and clean as they set out along the path forged by horses, carts, and the occasional automobile until they're at the edge of town where the dirt path turns into a paved walkway. Josephine walks holding her mother's hand, not caring at the moment whether it makes her seem babyish. She's walking with both of her parents— something she is so happy about and want to remember. She can feel eyes on them, but she ignores it, letting the feeling roll over her shoulders. People might not understand their family, but they're still going to become a family. She believes that.
As they walk past a larger group of people, she can hear her mother and Jack's names being mentioned, but doesn't understand what the people are talking about— something about digging gold? She feels her mother's grip tighten on her hand, and Jack steps closer to the two girls, placing a hand on the small of Rose's back. When she glances up at her mother she sees that Rose is looking down and straight ahead toward the pavement, her jaw clenched, and Jo wishes she understood what those people were saying.
She's startled out of her thoughts as they near the school yard, and William runs up to them in greeting. He has Jo's canvas under his arm, all wrapped up to hide the picture, and Jack and Rose pretend not to notice.
"Hey, Jo. Hello Mrs. Dawson, Mr. Dawson," He nods towards her parents.
"Hello, William," her mother greets with a smile.
"Call me Jack," the older man says, reaching out to shake the young boy's hand.
William turns towards Rose, reaching into his pocket for something and pulls out an envelope. "Mother said to give you this," he explains handing it off. It's her wages for the next two weeks, and Rose shakes her head. It is just like Miranda to be this thoughtful.
"Thank you, William. Please do thank your mother for me, and tell her I'll stop by for a visit soon."
Will nods with a grin, turning towards Josephine again. "Come on, Jo, I'll walk you inside. Beatrice is being particularly snotty this morning." Jo rolls her eyes at Will's protectiveness, sure that he's just showing off in front of Rose, but lets go of her mother's hand anyway, giving her a quick hug, and tossing a small smile towards Jack before following the twelve year old.
As the two kids walk away, Jack speaks up.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that young man has a crush on our daughter," he nods in William's direction.
Rose smiles then. "I think you're right," she agrees. "Not that Josephine will pull her head from the clouds any time soon in order to notice. That boy adores her."
Jack laughs. "I'm glad for that! I just because a father five days ago. It's too soon to worry about my daughter getting a boyfriend."
Rose shakes her head at Jack's silliness, sticking her hands into her pockets for warmth. "Well," she says, looking up at him. "Where to first? We may as well get our parade around town over with before I lose my nerve. I hate that people can be so harsh and judgmental."
"I know," he says, wanting to kiss her forehead, but settling on placing his hand back on her back since they're out in public. "I guess first things first I'll check out of the Inn and grab my bag. Then I've got to post these letters and I wanted to pop into the hardware store as well. Are there any errands you needed to run?"
They're making their way in the direction of the Inn now. "I should pick up some food while we're out, but that's it," she says. trying not to tense as they pass another crowd of staring onlookers. As the enter the small Inn, the chatter between mother and daughter behind the desk stops.
"Mr. Dawson," says the elder innkeeper, stepping out from behind the desk. "We were just speaking about you."
"I'll bet you were," mumbles Rose under her breath, loud enough for only Jack to hear.
"Oh?" He asks, trying to remain genial and impartial.
To her credit, the older woman has the grace to blush as she tries to explain herself. "Well yes, we were just saying what a story it must be, you and young Rose re-uniting after all this time when you knew nothing of her and the child. You've got your property back now Jack— that is we assume, as you've not returned to your lodgings several times now. Where is it that you'll be going, Rose? Have the Richardsons opened their door?"
With muddied implications, Rose bristles at the woman's answer, and finds she can't hold her tongue. "Oh yes, it's quite a story," she says enthusiastically and with mocking. "My husband, back from the dead, here in Wisconsin to kick his freeloading wife and daughter from the home they've no right to." There's a fire in her eyes as her anger flares. This woman had been awful to her when she first arrived; skeptical of the young pregnant woman on her doorstep in the dead of night— that was understandable and even forgivable, but after a decade the steeliness had not stopped and Rose was tired of remaining polite only to be met with gossip and slander. Even if these people were told the full truth, Rose doubted they would be met with understanding by many.
The innkeeper balks at Rose's outburst. "But it's true! I have it on good authority that you had that baby out of wedlock, whether it's his or not. It's shameful. And to reside in his family home for years without his knowledge— you have some nerve! If I had it my way you would have been sent packing as soon as you arrived here. It was more than apparent what kind of sins—"
Angered, Jack steps forward, between Rose and the innkeeper before more words can be exchanged and takes Rose's hand. "I should thank you not to talk to my wife in this fashion, Ma'am. For she is my wife. And if you would be so kind as to mark me as fully checked out from your establishment, I will not be returning. Rose and I will be going back to our house where we will be staying, together, with our child, very happily. For someone so pious, who claims to know what should be called shameful or a sin, maybe you should think before throwing stones and casting judgement."
It takes them only a minute or two to retrieve the rest of Jack's belongings and leave the Inn, and in that time, the innkeeper neither speaks nor moves, her jaw still wide open.
Once outside, Rose grasps at Jack's arm, stilling him in his stride. "Oh, Jack. I'm so sorry. I just got so angry." She's got tears starting in the corners of her eyes and Jack drops his things, bringing both hands to cup her face.
"Rose, It's alright. It's perfectly fine to be angry. What she said to you— I can't believe you've been dealing with all of this for so long alone." He shakes his head, wiping away some of her tears with his thumbs. "You never have to apologize to me for defending yourself. I'm glad you're so strong. You're the strongest woman I know."
The rest of their trip to town passes uneventfully. People watch them with curiosity, but the encounter no more harsh words. They're even greeted rather cheerfully by the owner of the general store where Jack posts his letters and Rose does her grocery shopping. The old man remembers Jack as a boy, when he used to come in to run errands for his parents and pick out a penny sweet for himself and his sister. This time, he's happy to pick something out for his daughter instead. Afterwards, the drop their things back at the house, and Rose returns to the school by three to collect Josephine while Jack heads back out to the hardware store, telling Rose that he's on the hunt for some tools to start fixing things up around the house.
Upon reaching the school yard, she is not at all expecting to find her daughter red-faced and sobbing in the snow with William not far away sporting his own red face, bruised knuckles and a black eye. She can see Jo's canvas laying unwrapped in the snow several feet away, the beautiful landscape of their house in summertime, a surprise that had been meant for Rose, slashed through the middle by something sharp and splashed with black ink.
Running the last few feet to her daughter, Rose has the girl up on her feet in into her arms in no time, holding her close. Through her sobs, she tries to piece together the story of what has happened, but only picks up the names Beatrice and Luke. Looking towards William, he provides the rest of the story for her.
Beatrice had been calling Jo names again all morning, and by lunch time had persuaded some of the boys in her year, namely, Lucas Smithson, to steal and hide Josephine's painting. Will had gone looking for Luke to retrieve the painting, and had wound up in a fight. Apparently it had all been meant as a cruel joke, but the boy had gone too far, spilling ink on the painting, and then ripping it with his pocket knife, saying things about Josephine and her family to make William even more angry. Now Jo's painting was ruined, and he would be in trouble at home and with the teacher for fighting,
Rose sighs, truly not understanding why kids could be so cruel, and feeling partially responsible for Josephine's troubles at school. She collects the remains of her daughter's painting, tucking it under her arm, and then walks William home to his mother. She feels responsible in a way for the boy's injuries as well and doesn't want to send him home with no explanation. Miranda, while of course disappointed in her son for resorting to violence, is not angry, and is instead consoling. Josephine however wants to hear none of it. She's still angry with Will for getting involved when she told him to leave it alone. Setting out again, Rose is hoping that Jack has returned. It has been a long day, and she and Josephine could both use some comfort.