Camping is nothing like Rose had expected. In fact, she's not really sure what she had thought. Every description of camping she had read growing up had been in novels by the likes of Mark Twain and Laura Ingalls Wilder— books her parents had frowned heavily upon, and so she had assumed it was something that women only ever did upon absolute necessity. As they drove however, Jack told them stories about trips when he was a child, and the way his mother and sister would fish and play catch and light bonfires right alongside he and his father. Josephine was nothing but excited to set off on the adventure, and while Rose was indeed excited, she was also nervous. She had never slept in the woods, or on the ground, or even been without a washroom at the ready.
"What about bears, or wolves?" she had asked Jack a bit fearfully. She had heard tell of a bear in town several years ago when they were still on their own, and had lost a week of sleep with worry.
"There can be both," he answers truthfully, "But they're more scared of us than we are of them. As long as we keep food off of the ground we're not likely to be bothered. If we see any we'll just make a whole lotta noise and scare 'em off."
Jack had seemed so sure, and so Rose had no reason not to relax and enjoy the experience. The drive had been beautiful. The more she saw of the Wisconsin wilderness and of the woods and lakes he grew up visiting, the more she was beginning to understand where Jack's adventurer streak came from. If this was how he spent his childhood, it was no wonder he continued wanting to travel. The woods seemed to share Jack's essence— a wildness that was exciting and refreshing while also being balancing, homey, and familiar. The smell of the pine and cedar brought comfort because that's exactly how Jack has always smelled to her— of woods and mountains and charcoal and tobacco and coffee and spice, even when they had been upon the sea.
The whole trip lasted for five days, and Jack seemed to have thought of everything they could possible need. They slept in a large canvas tent that had been in his family since his childhood. Rose was surprised and pleased to find that instead of sleeping on the hard, cold ground— something she hadn't wanted to seem like a spoiled brat to admit she wasn't looking forward to, among his family's camping gear were plush down mattress pads to go under warm flannel sleeping bags— Rose and Jack's bag a double that had belonged to his parents, so that they could sleep cuddled together.
They cooked their meals out over a fire, Jack showing them how to use aluminum foil to bake anything without char, and how to brew camp coffee. He also introduced them to the s'more, which is now Josephine's new favorite thing. During the day they lounged in the sun, and Jack taught Josephine how to fish and skip rocks. Time was spent with the both of them sketching while Rose wrote in her notebook, and they played games of badminton and cards.
"You know," Jack mused as he taught Rose to play poker one evening by the fire after Josephine had already fallen asleep, exhausted, with the puppy lounging at the mouth of the tent, keeping an eye on all of the humans, "thinking about it, if I had never gone camping so much as a kid, I don't think we ever would have met."
"What do you mean?" she had asked, not seeing the direct correlation he was insinuating.
He holds up his hand of cards, before laying two down and picking up another. "It was my pa who taught me to play poker," he tells her, "But he would only ever play it in the middle of the woods when we were camping. He didn't believe in gambling in every day life but he said in the woods it was okay 'cause there was nothing to bet but brambles."
She smiled. Jack had really opened up about times with his family while they had been away and she was relishing every story. He was a bit different out here in the woods— more carefree and relaxed— more like the Jack she had first met on Titanic, who didn't have a care in the world, and she was hoping that he would take some of this relaxation back with him.
"If I had never learned to play out here, I would have never won those tickets or found you."
He lays down another pair of cards, turning them face-up. "Two pair," he says triumphantly, smirking at Rose's frown.
She sighs. "I'm glad you did learn," she tells him. "I don't even want to think about my life without you anymore. I think however, that I'm really the one who won out in the end." She flips her hand down, revealing a royal flush, her double entendre not lost on Jack and he whistles, pride welling up in him at how quickly she had caught on to the bluffing.
"I've definitely met my match in you, haven't I, Rose-petal?
Now, on their way back home, all three of them have had an amazing time as a family, but they are all looking forward to baths and real beds and cold drinks from the ice box after nearly a week of roughing it. Josephine can't wait to see William and tell him about all she had learned and done, from catching a trout to lighting a fire to seeing a black bear, even if it had been a long distance away across a river.
Rose would have to go back to work at the diner for the next several days and she was looking forward to a good night's sleep beforehand, and Jack has another deadline to think about.
When they pull up the thin dirt lane leading to their house, Rose doesn't even notice Miranda sitting upon the porch at first, distracted by waking Josephine who had fallen asleep upon her shoulder during the journey.
"Miranda, hello," calls Jack as he hops down from the driver seat, closing the door and waking forward to meet his childhood friend. "For what do we owe this visit?"
"Charming as ever, Jack," the woman chuckles, not meeting his eye, and Rose looks up to catch her friend's discomfort.
"What' is it, Miranda?" she asks, rushing forward. "What's wrong?"
"I feel as if all I do is bring shock to you both again and again," she says, stirring the memories of Jack's initial arrival, and of the calls that had taken place when Rose took ill.
They both register alarm. "What is it? What's happened?" Rose asks. "Is it William?"
"No, no, William is fine. He's feeling better every day. Actually its more news for Jack," she explains. "Well, news for you both, but it will be a bit of a shock I think. Why don't we go inside? Josephine," she looks to the young girl, "Will is out back on the porch swing if you want to take the puppy and go tell him all about your trip," Miranda offers, and Jo does as she's told despite her curiosity.
"Miranda, you're worrying me," Rose tells her as they make their way to the kitchen. The two women take a seat at the table, and Jack pours three glasses of iced tea from the pitcher in the icebox before joining them.
"I'm sorry," Miranda says, looking remorseful and a little bit guilty now. "I didn't know how to track you down in the woods so there was no way to let you know straight away or I would have." The brunette looks to Jack, holding his gaze.
"Jack, I know its not something you like to think or talk about— believe me, I don't like it either, but what do you remember of the day the barn burned?"
Jack's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. He hadn't expected a question like this, especially not out of the blue from Miranda, under apparent urgency.
"Well, I dunno," he tells her. "It was so long ago. I was out on the lake when it happened. The sheriff came and found me and I rushed home but it was too late. They said it was from a lantern on the dry hay and that the heat made it all catch too fast. That someone saw my sister run back in for the animals and my parents followed after her but the roof collapsed and trapped 'em." He repeats the abbreviated version of what he had recollected to Rose, leaving out the guilt, shame, and sorrow she knows he still holds on to. She reaches across the table and lays her hand on his, and he grasps onto it with calloused fingers, anticipating whatever Miranda could have to tell them.
Miranda holds his gaze and he can see her trepidation at whatever news she has to bear, and he reaches over, laying a hand on her forearm. "Miranda, whatever you have to tell me, its okay. I'm not about to shoot the messenger."
"While you were gone a woman came into town looking for you."
Jack's brows furrow, and he pulls back a bit, his hand not held by Rose running a line through the condensation on his glass. "What are you getting at, Miranda? Who?"
"Jack, it's her. It's Julia. She survived. She's back."
Jack backs away from the table, pulling away even from Rose whose face mirrors his confusion. "That's impossible," says Jack. "You— you're lying. She can't be."
Miranda's frown deepens as she holds his gaze. "I'm not, Jack. I wouldn't lie to you. Not about this."
"It's been fifteen years," he says, shaking his head in disbelief. "She— she's dead. She has a grave right out there!" He points out the window, and jumps to his feet, grimacing at the pain the sudden movement causes.
Miranda's eyes don't stray from his. She knew that this would be hard and Jack is taking it about how she had suspected he would.
"I didn't believe it at first either, Jack. Her death hit me hard, just like you leaving did. You two were my best friends back then. I wouldn't lie to you about this. It's her, clear as day. I promise you. And just like you, she has a story to tell."
Jack's eyes flit from Miranda to Rose who is gazing at Jack with worry, and looking unsure as to how she should react. He suddenly feels bad for pulling away so harshly in his shock, as shock is really the only word for how he feels as he tries to wrap his head around even the idea of his twin being alive and suddenly back in his life.
He runs his hand through his hair, still dirty from the camping trip, willing himself to calm down and be rational. Feeling the need to be closer to Rose in this moment to find some balance again, he crosses to her side of the table, coming to stand behind her and resting a hand on her shoulder which she reaches up to cover.
"Where is she?" Jack asks, unsure if he's ready to face this. "Is she here?"
"No," their friend shakes her head. "She's back at my place. She's been back for about two days now. After she and I spoke, we agreed her coming here before I spoke with you would be too much of a shock, but I didn't want her staying at that inn, either, especially after how they've treated you and Rose. We don't need more town gossip adding to the occasion."
Jack nods. The innkeeper and her family truly had treated the both of them terribly, and their daughter Beatrice had been at the center of the bullying Josephine has received at school, and so he's glad that Miranda had stepped up, if this really is Julia they're talking about.
"I guess she's expecting me, then?"
"On your terms," says Miranda. "I told her it would be a shock— that I couldn't guarantee you would meet today."
Another sigh escapes Jack's lips. "I'll come talk to her," he says. "If you don't mind I would like to get cleaned up and clear my head a bit first, though."
Miranda nods, understanding. "Of course, Jack. Although I fear you'll have a lot to talk about. Perhaps it would be better if I wait here until you've both freshened up, and then Josephine can come with me and William for supper and stay the night if need be? That will give the three of you the time to talk away from prying ears."
"That's good thinking." It's Rose that responds with a grateful smile, before giving Jack's hand a reassuring squeeze and standing to face him. "Mon cher, why don't you head up and draw a bath, and I'll be up soon?" She tells him, using an endearment she knows he likes.
Jack nods, and and heads up, his whirling mind apparent in his silence, and he suddenly appears exhausted and rather defeated— a far cry from the refreshed care-free demeanor he had had on their way home.
Miranda frowns as he exits. "I'm sorry to spring this on the two of you," she tells Rose. "Honestly, I'm beginning to expect stray Dawsons to continue showing up at my doorstep, considering this is the third time now," she jokes dryly. "Not that I'm not thrilled. But Rose, you may want to warn Jack— she hasn't had an easy time of it."
— —
Washed, and dressed in fresh clothes, Jack and Rose are out on the front porch awaiting the return of Julia. They had said goodbye to Josephine for the night, with the promise to collect her in the morning and explain everything, and they're both feeling rather guilty about sending their daughter off so soon after returning home, but the nine-year-old is more than happy to be able to spend the evening with her friend.
Now alone, Rose has brought out a fresh pot of tea, the task of brewing it having helped to calm her nerves, but she can tell from observing her husband that he is a wreck. He hadn't said much at all within the past hour, and his quiet was unnerving her, not that she would say so. Currently, he's pacing the length from the doorway to the porch steps, back and forth, obviously unable to stay still. His cane is tapping rhythmically on the wooden decking, and at a guess she would have to say he is on his second, or maybe third cigarette since they had stepped outside.
Wanting to do anything to soothe his nerves, Rose places a hand on his forearm as he passes, letting her fingers trail down until she's grasping his cool calloused hand in hers, taking the cigarette from between his fingers to have a drag of it herself. "Jack, talk to me, my love. Tell me what's going through your mind. I want to understand."
Jack frowns, but steps closer to her, pulling her in close and settling his arm around her waist and chin atop her curls, and she stubs out the spent butt on a nearby ashtray. "I don't know if you can understand, Rose. I feel like I don't understand anything right now. I feel like the world has flipped on its head and everything I ever thought was true is false. How could she have survived? How did no one know? If that's not her grave in the back, then what is it? I feel so guilty about everything. I should have stayed here. I shouldn't have run."
"Sweetheart, you had no way of knowing. All you could do back then was take the adults' word for it, and the sheriff had told you they were gone. You were a child. There was nothing for you to do but to trust the people around you. There was nothing else you could have done, and at the time maybe leaving was what you needed. After all, we wouldn't have met if you hadn't made your way across the Atlantic. I'm sure your sister has her own explanation and story to tell. From what Miranda has said, it sounds like she hasn't had an easy time."
"That's what I'm afraid of," says Jack. "It was my job to protect her, and I failed."
Rose shakes her head, looking up at him. "No, Jack. You can't let yourself think that way. You can't fail at a task when all evidence points to it not existing in the first place. You two have been apart for as long as you ever were together. I'm not sure what's in store, but I know you, Jack, and I know that had you known, you would have done all you could to stay together as a family and keep her safe, because that's what you have been proving time and again that that is what you would have done for me had we not been separated either. Perhaps you can look at this as a second chance, just like you and I have been given a second chance."
"I know you're right," he replies with a deep sigh. "You always know exactly what I need to hear."
Rose leans up on her tip-toes to plant a kiss on his stubbled cheek. "I'm not just telling you what you need to hear," she says. "I'm telling you the truth."
Jack kisses her forehead, overcome with admiration for the woman in his arms, and holds her a little tighter as they both turn to face the narrow road leading off to town in the distance. After a while longer, a figure appears around the bend in the road, drawing closer, and Jack is frozen, rooted to the spot.
As the figure draws closer they can make out more features. She's taller than most women, maybe just a few inches shorter than Jack rather than the foot shorter which Rose stands, and she has shining dirty-blonde hair secured up in a bun, and is dressed casually, but in a rather well made long sleeved summer frock. Even from far away, Rose can see the similarities in their features— the arched eyebrows and thin pink lips and high cheekbones and slightly upturned nose. Her skin is just as naturally tanned as Jack's although a little lighter as if she spends much of her time indoors, and she has a carefree way of walking that mirrors her twin.
She glances to her husband, who has now let go of his grip on her waist, one gripping the cane at his side with white knuckles, the other poised on the railing leading off of the porch as he looks about ready to bound forward and close the distance between the two of them, but he stays where he is until she's close enough to speak.
"Jack. It's really you." Her voice holds its own shock, and it breaks the spell.
"Julia." Jack drops his cane with a clatter and is off of the porch quick enough to stumble slightly as he reaches uneven ground, but he doesn't falter as he crosses the gap and embraces the young woman before him tightly, one arm giving a crushing hug across her back, the other cradling her head into his shoulder as both of them appear to heave a sob, and he kisses the side of her head, repeating her name. Watching them, Rose wonders if this is how their reunion would have looked from the outside when he had reappeared last February, and considers if perhaps she should retreat inside, and give the siblings this time alone, but Jack pulls back, looking down into his sisters now blotchy red face.
"It's really you," he says, echoing her sentiment with awe, and she chuckles, nodding, pulling him in close for another tight hug.
Jack pulls back and studies her, hands at her shoulders now. Their resemblance is uncanny, and Rose realizes she had never asked whether they were identical or fraternal twins. At any rate, they definitely share in build and bone structure, and she's slightly startled to see Jack's eyes glance up at her from a different face, and Jack turns his gaze back to Rose as well, reaching back a hand to beckon her forward.
As Rose reaches the yard, taking his hand, he introduces her to his sister, who is now giving her full attention, curiously.
"Julia, this is my wife, Rose. Rose— Julia."
"Amazing to meet you," says Rose with a courteous smile, which Julia returns openly.
"Likewise," says the blonde woman. "If Jack went and got married then you must be someone really special, so I'm honored." Her smile is easy, like Jack's, and Rose realize that both of the Dawsons come by their charm naturally.
"She is someone special," confirms Jack, squeezing Rose's hand with a smile, his gaze betraying his pride. "Rose and our daughter Josephine are the bright spots in my life, and we have another on the way."
Julia's eyes widen. "You have a child?" She turns towards Rose again. "I'm an aunt? How old is she? When are you due?"
Rose can't help but smile at this. She has known Julia for less than five minutes, and already finds her truly endearing. "You sound like Jack when he found out," she says, poking fun at her husband. "Josephine is nearly ten, and this baby Dawson should arrive right around Christmas."
Something akin to sadness flickers across Julia's gaze as she turns back to her brother. "You've been a father for nearly a decade, and I've missed it. I'm sorry, Jack."
His own smile wavers, then. "I've missed it, too, actually." He tells her. "I've only been back in Chippewa Falls and with Rose here for about five months. It's a long story."
"Perhaps you two should go out to the back porch and catch up," suggests Rose. "I'll bring you something to drink."
"What about you?" asks Jack.
She shrugs with a smile and retrieves Jack's cane for him from the top of the stairs, handing it his way. "What about me? I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to get clued in but right now the two of you need some time together. I'll unpack from our trip."