Happiness lasts through the early spring, into May and June. After the wedding, Jack and Rose enjoy a lovely honeymoon weekend together in a rather nice Eau Claire hotel, courtesy of Molly, and they return in time to spend a nice easter with their daughter, and their friends before Fabrizio and his family as well as Molly and her son return home with promises to visit again.

Josephine returns to school after a spring break, and with news of their marriage— passed to the town as a vow renewal, gossip about Jack and Rose has calmed down within the small town. Finally, the diner has returned to normal, and Rose is no longer encountering the judgmental gazes she had been enduring, and had even encountered some newfound kindness. Much of the town loved Jack— he was kind to everybody, as was his nature, and they had learned that the young boy who had been prone to trouble-making and pranks had grown into an honest and upstanding man who was willing to help out wherever needed. When not checking in on their community, Jack spent his days working on the house or yard, and drawing and painting, sending his art out to publications and advertising agencies. Rose had finally convinced him of the value of his talent, assuring him that if he only tried, he would be able to get the recognition he deserved, and reach every audience he had ever dreamed of with his illustrations. At her insistence, he decided that really, he had nothing to lose. He had already found the love of his life, alive and well. He had a family now, and a secure house and livelihood. They didn't have to struggle, and so he was fully free to pursue his dreams, and he felt that once again luck was on his side.

Currently, Jack is on the train on the way to Eau Claire, and then on to Chicago, via Milwaukee. He had received a telegram asking for his presence at a meeting with representatives from a magazine based out of New York, and while he didn't want to spend a whole week away from Rose and Jo, it was too intriguing of an opportunity to pass up. Rose had sent him on his way early that morning with a lingering kiss for good luck, a hot thermos full of coffee, and had made him promise to telephone her in the evening every chance he got.

Her trip to meet Josephine at the school that afternoon feels like a flashback to a time before Jack's return— it had been a while since it had been just the two of them, and while she missed Jack more every moment he was gone she was looking forward to spending some quality time with her daughter. It was not the usual happy face of her daughter that greeted Rose, however. Even from across the school yard, she could tell that the girl looked peaky— paler than usual, and she seemed to be walking slow. William was a few paces behind her, carrying her books, looking worried.

"Jo, honey, are you alright?" Rose asks, hurrying to meet them. Josephine shakes her head no.

"I don't feel good," the nine-year-old complains. Up close, Rose can see that she is indeed very pale, but her cheeks are flushed.

"What doesn't feel good, baby?" She asks, placing the back of her hand against the young girl's forehead. "Oh, you're burning up with fever."

"My head hurts," the girl answers, breaking into a coughing fit. She sounds rather congested as well. Rose is confused. Josephine had been fine just that morning but it must just be a cold.

"Let's get you home," she says, taking Jo's things from William. "We'll get you comfortable in bed and I'll make you some soup, how does that sound?" she asks, pushing her daughter's hair back from her face. "You hurry on home, William," she tells the young boy. "And would you mind giving your mother a heads up that I may not be in tomorrow if Jo is still sick?" She asks.

William looks worried and as if he's going to argue with Rose, but does as he's told, telling Jo to feel better before he heads off towards town and the diner, leaving Rose to shake her head at the boy's obvious ever-growing infatuation.

Now safe at home, Rose has Jo tucked soundly into bed with a mug of tea and her favorite radio show on for comfort. Her daughter had been sick before, as every child inevitably has, but that didn't stop Rose from worrying. She had never seen a cold come on this quickly in her daughter before, and when Jack calls late that evening, having finally reached his hotel in Chicago after a full day of travel, she tells him as much, relaying her fears.

"And you say she was fine this morning?" he asks, sounding worried himself.

"Yes," says Rose. "She was her usual grumpy morning self, but she definitely wasn't feeling ill."

"Huh." Jack wonders. "Well, don't get too worried, sweetheart. It's probably nothing. We'll just have to keep an eye on her."

"I know," Rose sighs into the phone. "When is your meeting tomorrow?" She asks, changing the subject.

"It's at noon," he answers, "and then another on Thursday. I'm sure I can talk to them though— reschedule the rest of it so I can get home. You and Jo come first."

Rose shakes her head before realizing he can't see her over the phone line. "No, Jack, you don't need to do that. You go to your meetings, we'll be alright. This might be your big chance," she assures him.

She can hear reluctance in his voice, but he agrees. "Will you tell her I love her?" Jack asks. "And give her a big kiss for me."

"Of course, Jack." His love of their daughter warms her from the inside, out, and hearing his voice is soothing in his absence.

"I love you, too, petal," he tells her, using his favorite pet name for her. "I can't wait until I can give you a big kiss."

Rose can't help the smile that comes to her lips. "Don't make me miss you more than I already do," she says. "Friday, right?"

"Yeah." Says Jack. "I'll see you then. For now, go have some sweet dreams."

"I'm sure you'll be in them," she tells him. "Goodnight, Jack."

Rose is up early, unable to sleep any longer. Not only is she worried about Josephine, whom she could hear coughing through the night, but she had found that she is no longer accustomed to sleeping alone, and missed the comforting, protective presence of Jack at her back, and even the sound of his snores. It really didn't help that she could feel a tickle building in the back of her own throat and the beginnings of a migraine, knowing that she is bound to come down with whatever had made her daughter ill.

It's about half past seven when she hears a knock on the front door, and opens it to find William standing on her porch bearing a pot of soup and well-wishes from Miranda.

"Ma sent me to check on you and Jo," he explains, "And she says you don't need to be cooking or to worry about work."

"That's sweet," says Rose, accepting the pot from the young boy. "I would invite you in, Will, but you really don't want to catch this, I assure you. I'm starting to feel under the weather myself."

William nods. "They've closed school today," he mentions. "the teacher is sick too."

As the day goes on, Josephine is starting to feel better. Here cough is subsiding and she has enough of an appetite to eat a few bowls of Miranda's soup and to get up from her bed. As Jo begins to feel better, however, Rose is starting to realize that she herself is not well at all. Her throat is raw, made worse by the coughing— a dry, nasty cough. She aches all over, and knows from the fluctuations between freezing and sweating that she is having a recurring high fever. Her head is pounding, and she is sensitive to light, as well, the bright afternoon sun in the house having caused her to empty the contents of her stomach twice, and yet she is more concerned with taking care of Josephine than herself, much to her daughter's protests.

Jo is quickly growing tired of Rose's stubbornness as she tries to get her mother to rest, and finally gets Rose to agree to lay down for a short nap— although if her mother does fall asleep Jo has no plans to wake her.

Rose is finally sleeping well when Jack calls that evening, and Jo can tell that he's surprised to hear her voice on the other end of the phone line.

"Hey there, sweetheart. How are you feeling?" he asks her, his initial shock forgotten. Josephine is glad to hear her father's voice. Knowing that he cares, even when he's not there with them is comforting.

"I'm okay," she answers. She still isn't feeling great, but she is worlds better than the day before. "Mama is really now though," she tells him. "Like I was yesterday, but I think a little worse. She got sick to her stomach a few times and she has a fever."

Even the little girl can hear the worry in Jack's voice. "Is that why you're answering the phone?" he asks.

"Mhmm. Mama is sleeping. She didn't want to, but I told her she needs rest."

"You did good, Jo," Jack tells her. "Did you both have supper? Do you need anything?" he asks.

"Will brought us some soup," she answers.

"Good," he tells her. "I'm going to call Miranda and have her check on you, okay? I'm moving all my meetings around and I'll be back with you two tomorrow. Just hold tight and take care of your mother for me."

"You don't have to do that," she tells him. "Mama would want you to talk to the magazine people."

"That's alright, sweetheart," he assures her. "You and your mother are more important. Listen, I want you to get some rest as well. I know you're feeling better, but you still need to take it easy."

"Okay," she acquiesces. Her father has been back in her life for nearly four months now, but she still hadn't gotten the nerve up to call him Papa out loud the way she does in her head, although it almost slips out, now. She only hopes that he knows how grateful she is for him in their lives.

Josephine is grateful when Miranda and William show up at the door about an hour later. Since she had spoken to Jack, Rose had woken back up, but hadn't been able to stop coughing, and seemed almost delirious. She had been asking for somebody named Trudy and Jo had no idea who that was. It was beginning to frighten her a little.

"Hey, baby," Miranda greets her, walking straight into the house and pulling her into a motherly hug. Will is following close behind, but Jo can tell that he doesn't feel well either, and his mother tells him to go lay down on the sofa.

"Let's go see about your mama," Miranda tells Jo, and she follows on the older woman's heels. Rose is flushed, laying back in her bed, and her forehead is covered in a sheen of sweat, hair damp and sticking to it. She opens her eyes when she hears the women enter the room, her eyes falling on Jo and then on her friend.

"Miranda. What are you doing here?"

"Jack called me, love. Asked me to come and look in on you."

"Jack?" she asks. "But I'm fine. We're fine."

"Rose, dear, you're not fine. You're burning up with fever. I'm gonna be staying and keeping an eye out until he's back, alright? And I won't take any of your arguing." Her friend had always been pretty no-nonsense.

"Jo, darling, do you think you could fetch a wet rag for your mother's forehead?" the woman asks.

Josephine does as she's told, and Will finds her in the kitchen, disobeying his mother's orders to lay down.

"You feeling better, Jo?" he asks her, his concern apparent.

The young girl turns to her friend, taking in his appearance. He's trying to hide it but she can tell that he must be feeling awful as well. His hair is messy, and his cheeks are red, and she thinks he might be in the same shirt and pants she had seen him in at school yesterday. "Yes. You're not, though," she says. She knows that Will is looking out for her, but sometimes the boy tries to be a little too protective and helpful, even being stupid about his own health and safety, and she hates to watch it. She had always assumed he saw her as a little sister, but with the way some of the other girls at school had been whispering recently, she wasn't so sure now. They had whispered to her that Will has a crush— something she didn't even want to begin to think about.

"You should go lay down, Will."

He nods, agreeing to finally do what he's told. "Okay. Just wanted to make sure you're good." She gives him a smile over her shoulder, ringing out the rag she had been sent to fetch.

"I feel a lot better. Go get some sleep, and you will too," she tells him. "You're no fun when you're sick."

—

The magazine people, as Jo had called them, are more understanding than Jack had expected, and he's boarding the first train home early the next morning, hopeful to be reaching Chippewa Falls by nightfall. After this trip he's very strongly considering getting a car, if only to save an extra hour between their town and Eau Claire.

If he's being honest with himself, his thoughts are all over the place. Even the fact that he has a home to race back to at the moment would have been a foreign concept to him just a few short months ago, and yet he does— a place and people that he now cares about more than anything in this world. Since the death of his parents, over fifteen years ago now, he hadn't been able to imagine staying in one place, or what it would be like to have a deep yearning to be at home with a family, but of course that was all before he knew that Rose was still alive, or that he had a daughter. In just a few short months, those two women had become the center of his world, and he was more than willing to rearrange his entire existence around them in any way if it meant their safety and happiness. With nothing else to pass the time, he pulls out his portfolio, opening to a blank sheet of paper, and begins sketching his girls.

He hadn't been too worried about their illnesses until he had spoken to Miranda the night before, after hanging up with Jo. The woman had informed him that sickness had broken out quickly throughout the town. He had left on Sunday, and with today being Tuesday, in just that very short time a lot of people had been taken ill— Influenza, she had explained, and Jack's alarm immediately rose. The Spanish influenza had hit hard across the globe a few short years ago, and he, just like everyone else, had seen death because of it. He had even had it himself, while in recovery at a field hospital in England, and it had been truly awful, and truly unfair. Men, who had survived the most unthinkable of injuries the front lines, were laid victim to the flu, losing their lives anyway in the midst of recovery. He had witnessed otherwise sound men descend into madness and delirium because of the fever, coughing until their lungs simply could not handle it. He himself had had a few scary nights when it felt like a metal vice had been clamped around his ribcage, attempting to squeeze the life from him and had brought his worst memories straight to the surface— the images of his parents and twin sister burning alive in the flames of their barn, of Rose being struck by Cal Hockley, and their being shot at. The lives lost upon Titanic— friends, and loved ones. Strangers. Children. The screams in the icy waters. The silence that followed. Trenches, war, bloodshed.

Jack sets his pencil down, focusing upon the fields and trees outside the window of the train, not liking where his mind is leading him. He turns instead to reviewing the papers that the magazine publishers had left with him— contracts. Something good and boring to occupy his thoughts until he could go home and see Rose and Josephine for himself and put his worries to rest.

His worries, however, are not put to rest upon his return. There is a car he doesn't recognize on the street, and he finds Josephine out on the porch. She runs to him as he approaches, not even part way up their dirt driveway yet. She all but crashes into his chest, burying her face in his vest as his arms rise to encircle her. The kiss he plants onto her hair feels as automatic to Jack as if he had known this little girl her whole life, as she has such a hold on his heart.

"Papa." She ekes out, and he's struck by her calling him that, but now is not the time to dwell. "I'm so scared," she tells him. "Mama's so sick."

His heart is breaking at the fear in her voice, and he knows that he has made the absolute right decision in rushing home.

"I'm here, baby girl," he tells her, being more familiar than he would usually dare in an effort to comfort his daughter. "No matter what happens, I'm here. Let's get inside, and I'll go see her, alright?" He asks.

She nods, pulling back and wiping her tears away with the back of a hand as they make their way inside.

"Will is really sick, too," Jo tells him. "He's in Mama's old room. Miranda told me to stay in the kitchen or outside while Dr. Clark is here."

"That may be for the best," he tells her as they enter the house. His questions about the car are answered at the mention of a doctor. "Tell you what, why don't you do me a huge favor and make all of the grownups a nice cup of coffee while I go check on your mother?" he asks. "You know how to do that, don't you?"

She nods. "I've seen you and mama do that loads. I know how."

Jack knocks quietly on the bedroom door before entering, alerting Miranda and the Doctor to his presence. His eyes immediately land upon his Rose, propped up in the bed, but not awake. She looks small, weak, and he can tell that her breathing is labored. Her face is ghostly under her usual ivory complexion, and her still short hair is damp, stuck to her forehead with fever sweat. The sight of her is almost shocking, sending him back to visions of her laid out upon a doorframe in the ocean, shaking and blue-lipped with hypothermia.

"Ah, Mr. Dawson."

It's the doctor who speaks first— the same town doctor who had attended Jack as a child, and he's surprised at himself for the comfort brought on by familiarity.

"How is she?" he asks quietly, not wanting to wake her. He crosses the room to the bedside, taking her hand in his as she sleeps on through fever.

"Right now its hard to tell," says the doctor. "She is weak, but not in dire circumstances. It is good that she's sleeping. As long as she is coherent when she next wakes, I believe we can expect a fine recovery."

"Coherent?" Jack asks. "Was she not, before?" His eyes meet Miranda's.

"She seemed a little confused," his old friend explains. "At first she was asking for somebody named Trudy. Does that name mean anything to you?"

Jack thinks on it. He believes he has heard that name mentioned once or twice. "That was her maid, I think," he explains. "When she was young. As far as I know Trudy perished on Titanic." He looks back down at his wife, frowning. Was she dreaming of Titanic? Was that where the fever was bringing her?

"She has asked for you a handful of times, saying that you're trapped somewhere and she must find you. And she has asked for a Mr. Andrews. She said that she must speak to Mr. Andrews."

Jack's frown deepens. So she was back on Titanic in her dreams, and by the sound of it, was going through the very beginning of the sinking when he had been locked up below decks.

"She's back on that ship," he states. "In her mind, she's seventeen again, and back on that ship." He can't help the worry that clouds his mind. He knows however that he mustn't give up hope that she would be fine, and that this was all fever-fueled delirium.

Miranda is frowning as well, fully aware of the harrowing time they had encountered aboard the ocean liner, as it is what brought Rose to Chippewa Falls in the first place. She lays a hand on Jack's shoulder, giving it as squeeze.

"I'll go check on William and give you some time alone. I believe the doctor wanted to have a word."

He nods, his attention again shifting to the doctor, who clears his throat looking rather uncomfortable.

"Mr. Dawson, perhaps we should, uh, step out into the hall?" He asks.

Jack doesn't want to leave Rose's side, but follows the doctor anyway, expectantly.

"Mr. Dawson, I am confident that your wife will pull through. She is young and mostly healthy. I did want to alert you however, that should she recover as expected, you both still have a long road ahead. The baby does complicate things quite a bit."

Jack knows his eyes must widen to the size of saucers at the doctor's words.

"B-baby?" He asks, not sure he has heard correctly.

"Mr. Dawson, your wife is with child. Or didn't you know?"

Dr. Clark looks truly concerned now. He had assumed both parents were aware of the pregnancy.

"No. I didn't know," stammers Jack. "I— how long? Are you sure they'll be okay? Both of them?"

"Sorry to tell you in these circumstances then, I just assumed. She's a month along, maybe two. In truth she may not even know it yet herself."

Jack nods. That had to explain it. Rose wouldn't keep something like this from him.

"If we can get her through the night, and get her fever to drop, I do believe your Rose will be just fine," the doctor assures him again. "This illness is taking its toll on her body, however. You must be mindful of that. She'll have to take it easy for the remainder of the pregnancy, and likely go on bed rest as it comes closer, but that's nothing to worry about just yet. For now, just focus on seeing her through the night."

Jack nods again, thanking him. His mind is a blur. Pregnant. He's going to be a father. Again. And he'd be here for it this time.

He enters the bedroom again, leaving the door cracked, and sits down by the head of the bed, pulling up the chair from Rose's vanity. He needs to get off of his aching leg, and to be close to Rose.

He studies her more closely. She is eerily pale, but she looks peaceful for the moment. His hand comes to her forehead. She is clammy, rather than warm to the touch, and he takes that as a sign that her fever has broken for the moment, as he smoothes her hair back from her face. He wants her to keep on sleeping peacefully, but also wishes he could see her eyes; her smile. To hear her voice speak his name. His eyes drift down to her stomach, covered up by the blankets. You can't even tell at a glance that she's pregnant. He's still trying to wrap his head around it.

"Hey, Rose Petal. I'm here. I'm home," he tells her, stroking her hair. "You gotta keep sleeping well and hang on through this night for me, alright? We have so much life left to live. You, and me," he allows himself a little smile, holding on to hope. "You, and me, and our babies."

Speaking of their babies, Josephine chooses this moment to knock quietly on the door. He sees her through the crack, holding the mug of coffee he had asked for.

"Mr. Jack?" She addresses him as she usually does. "Can I come in?"

He gives her what he hopes is an encouraging smile, motioning for her to enter, accepting the coffee gratefully. "Thank you, Jo."

He watches her as she studies her mother, fear written in her eyes.

"Is Mama gonna be okay?" she asks.

"The doctor is pretty confident," and he sets his coffee aside after taking a sip, pulling his daughter closer to him and down onto his lap, embracing her, wanting his family close. She's so intelligent for her age, but he reminds himself that intelligence does not negate the fact that she is a child who has felt pretty ill herself and who is scared about her mother, just as he is scared for his wife. He hugs her tight with one arm, taking up Rose's hand again with his other as Josephine settles her head against his shoulder.

"I am so proud of you, young lady," he tells her. "For being so brave, and for taking care of your mother, and for calling for help. You have done everything right, and your mother will be so proud as well."

"I missed you," the young girl tells him, and he glances down at her, unable to contain his fondness.

"You did?" he asks. She had never told him such a thing before, and it was truly touching.

She nods her head. "Yeah. Please don't leave again."

He shakes his head. "I won't," he tells her. "Not for a good long while."

It's quiet for a moment before she speaks again. "Mr. Jack?" she asks. "Is it alright if I call you Papa?"

He's tired, and it has been an emotionally exhausting day, but he's not sure he can even blame that for the tears that spring to his eyes at her question, his fondness growing even more the he thought possible. He looks down at his daughter, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. "Josephine Cora Dawson, I would be honored to be called your Papa," he tells her. The smile that lights her face is something that Jack is sure he'll remember for the rest of his life.

Exhausted, Cora eventually falls asleep right there on Jack's lap, and he lifts her carefully, carrying her through to her own room and tucking her into bed. Making his way downstairs, he knocks on the door to what is now the guest room, startling Miranda out of her thoughts at William's bedside.

"How's he doing?" Jack asks, and Miranda gives him a sad smile.

"As a parent, you never want to see your child suffer," she explains, "but the doctor says he'll pull through. This all came on so suddenly."

"If there's one thing I've learned," says Jack, "its that suddenly is the way most bad things are bound to happen."

She regards him, nodding sadly. "And how do you cope?" Miranda asks.

Jack shrugs. "You just keep on living— you keep on moving."

"Is that why you left?" Miranda asks. She had never gotten up the nerve to broach the topic. "When you're parents and Julia died— you just kept moving?"

Jack nods, unable to help the frown that passes over him.

"We missed you, you know," she tells him. "John, especially." She refers to her late husband— Jack's childhood best friend. "I miss Julia every day."

Jack nods, glad in a way that they're talking about this. He knows he needs to stop putting off confronting the past and his family—- especially with the growing family of his own. "I missed you guys too," he admits. "But at the time it was rather to keep moving— keep running. I'm sorry that I hurt everybody here."

"We understand," she tells him. "At least most everybody does. We're just glad to have you back."

He nods again, giving her a winning Jack Dawson grin. "Well, it would be rather hard to get rid of me now," he tells her.

He's about to head back upstairs, but decides to tell her. He has to tell someone— the secret is just too exciting.

"Miranda, did you know? Rose is pregnant. We're going to have another baby!"

"What?!" his friend exclaims, her voice causing William to stir in his sleep, and she lowers her voice again. "She hasn't said!"

"I'm not sure she knows," explains Jack. "I just found out."

"Well, I'll be," says Miranda. "Congratulations, Jack."