Chapter Thirty-Two
December 13th, 1913
New York City, New York
The snow was beginning to pick up outside. Rose watched the trees lurch about in the sharp wind as dark clouds gathered in the sky. It would be another harsh winter yet again. Rose shivered as she stared outside the large bay windows onto the street. She felt awful. Not just mentally, but physically as well. She felt herself coming down with an awful sickness, most likely from being out in the brisk weather. Rose felt that terrible cold feeling inside of her, similar to what she had fought aboard the Carpathia so long ago. Her entire body ached as she walked behind the bar and poured herself some tea. She leaned against the counter and shivered, wrapping her dark gray cardigan around her tighter. She blew the steam away from her tea and glanced around the rather quiet diner. Winston emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray of mugs.
"Rose, doll, are you drinkin' tea?" Winston arched his eyebrows as he hauled the tray below the bar. He straightened up, placing his hand on the counter, "I've never seen you drink tea before. Do you feel alright?" He pressed his sausage-like fingers to Rose's temple for a moment.
"Probably just a cold," Rose shrugged, sipping the tea.
"Well, I don't like the sound of that," Winston shook his head and began fixing himself a cup of coffee, "Why don't you head home? We're not busy. We'll survive."
"I don't have much longer on my shift," Rose lowered her mug, a shiver wracking her sore body again.
"Even more of a reason," Winston glanced over his shoulder, "Get out of here," He turned towards Rose, "You're paler than normal."
"It's just the weather," Rose replied, "I don't do well in cold temperatures."
"Yeah, 'cause you're as skinny as a broomstick," Winston smirked, "Really, doll, you should head home and get into bed. You should try to stop the sickness before it gets any worse. And before you start infectin' the rest of my staff."
Rose grinned weakly, "Can I finish my tea first?"
"Of course, doll," Winston winked, before hustling on to the kitchen.
...
When Rose walked in the door, she felt weak at the knees. Her stomach was tossling violently. Rose was convinced she was coming down with a sort of cold, which irked her, as she didn't have the money to really see a doctor. She unwound her coat from around her waist and hung it on the wrack. She tenderly touched her stomach, pleading for the nausea to go away. Rose felt so winded as she walked towards the kitchen and prepped a kettle to make some peppermint tea, in hopes of making her dizziness go away. After getting her tea on the burner, she collapsed on the couch, throwing her arm across her forehead. The room spun around her whether her eyes were opened or closed. Rose felt absolutely miserable.
Rose curled up on the couch, clutching her stomach as it tossed and turn, as if it was a violent sea during a storm. She couldn't help but think it was the worst time to get sick. With the holiday season approaching, she couldn't afford to not work. The tea kettle whistled and Rose stiffened at the sound. How nice tea sounded, but she didn't want to move a bone in her body. Rose waxed and waned between hot and cold. One moment, she would be shivering, and the next, she would feel a sweat breaking out across her body.
Eventually, Rose lugged herself to her feet and dragged herself to her bedroom, where she changed into a cotton nightgown and put on a fluffy robe. She sniffled and looked at pale-self in the mirror as she pinned her hair up. She leaned forward, pressing her palms flat to the vanity as she felt a searing burn in her throat from bile. Her stomach lurched horrendously and for a moment, she thought she was going to be sick, but it finally calmed enough for her to walk back to the kitchen and fix herself some peppermint tea.
Rose collapsed into a recliner, curling her legs up beneath her. She sipped at the tea slowly as another wave of nausea hit her. She pressed her slender fingers to her forehead, clenching her eyes closed as she couldn't decide if she was going to throw up or not. After a moment, Rose opened her eyes and looked towards the window, where the wind was howling and flurries of snow were darting through the air. She watched until the snowflakes made her dizzy. She took a deep breath, flaring her nostrils, as she sunk against the cushions and shivered. She held her tea cup close to her as she focused on trying to find equilibrium in her body. In the next moment, however, her cup of tea was forgotten on the coffee table as she found herself heaving up the contents of her stomach in the bathroom. The tile was cool against her legs, making her shiver. Her throat seared, her entire body ached. Rose flushed the toilet and fell back against the wall, pressing her forehead to her knees. She sighed heavily, pressing her sticky skin to the cool wall. Every moment had her in pain. It had to be a bad cold, she thought. 'Tis the season... Rose told herself miserably.
...
Jack stepped back from the finished commissioned painting of the boys playing marbles. He glanced to it as he set his pallet on the communal table, his hands on his hips. He gnawed on his lip as he turned his head this way and that, making sure it looked right from all angles. He was still undecided on how he felt about the lighting.
Frenchie appeared from the back room, lugging some buckets after him as he continued with the next painting, of a woman in a white dress standing on a frozen lake. He brought his things to the communal table and grinned at the painting, "Jack, is it done?"
Jack looked over his shoulder and shrugged, "More or less."
"It looks good," Iris lifted her head from drawing, "But Jack's been staring at it for awhile now."
"Stop with your staring," Frenchie waved his hand at Jack, "It looks magnificent. Probably much more than Mrs. Wilson is even expecting."
Jack stared intently at the painting for another moment before he heaved a sigh, "Well, there's no more time to tweak it, so I guess that's how it will be."
Just outside the large bay windows, the tree branches scratched against the panes. The trio glanced towards the wind and snow flurries. Iris closed her portfolio, staring at the window intently. She cradled her head in her hand and looked to her brother, "Maybe we should call it a day before we get snowed in, Frenchie."
Frenchie glanced to all his supplies on the table and sighed upon glancing back to the window, "Well... I guess this is a good stopping point. Damn, I hate this weather," Frenchie paced around for a moment and snapped his fingers, "Let me take a canvas home with me, at least," And with that, he turned on his heels and returned to the back room.
Iris came to her feet and crossed to the coat rack, grabbing her peacoat. Gently, she pulled some woolen gloves over her slender hands. She peaked at Jack from behind her curtain of long blonde hair. Jack was leaned up against the communal table, his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't aware of Iris staring at him for a few moments, but eventually, he turned his eyes on her.
"Something wrong with my face?" He asked with a grin, which Iris returned. She laughed lightly as she tied the sash to her coat and crossed to stand beside Jack. She gazed to the painting for a moment. Jack lowered his eyes, "One of the shadows is wrong."
"You can't even tell," Iris shook her head, adjusting her gloves again.
"I'll never stop seeing it," Jack laughed. He turned and went towards the door and began pulling his coat on, "Hopefully no one will notice," He smirked, fumbling with the buttons.
Iris paused and turned towards Jack, "You're leaving, too?"
Jack lifted his eyes, arching his brows, "Yeah, why?"
"Let me guess... you're going to see Rose?" Iris pressed her hip into the communal table, her gloved hand running over the dirty surface, "Do you even sleep here anymore?"
"Sometimes, yeah," Jack shrugged, continuing with his winter gear, "I just wanted to see her, that's all."
"Yeah," Iris nodded, lowering her eyes, "I know."
Jack huffed silently, trying to hide any exasperation evident on his face, "Is there a problem with that?"
"No, of course not," Iris shook her head.
Jack shuffled his feet, "I'll be back tomorrow morning to help with getting our commissions delivered."
"Okay," Iris said, turning her head away.
Jack clenched his hands for the slightest moment before he left without another word. Iris looked towards the door as it fell shut behind Jack. She let out a long sigh, running her hand through her wavy hand. She turned towards the backroom, "Are you ready yet!?" She called, feeling rather irritated.
"One moment!" Frenchie yelled back.
Iris fell against the communal table again, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked towards Jack's finished painting again, gnawing on her lip. She then shook her head and looked to her boots, sighing heavily.
...
When Jack came through the door of Rose's apartment, it was silent. No candles were lit. She wasn't anywhere to be found in the living room. He noticed a forgotten kettle of tea on the counter. He approached it slowly and lifted it, realizing it was nearly full. Jack gazed over the breakfast bar to see a mug of tea, that was full, sitting on top of a stack of books. Jack shrugged out of his coat and tossed it over the back of the couch as he wandered down the hall to her bedroom. Her bed was made and it was clear she hadn't been in it since they left that morning. Jack furrowed his brow and was turning back towards the living room when he noticed the smallest sliver of light peaking out from beneath her bathroom door. Slowly he approached and gently rapped on the door with his knuckles.
"Rose?" He called gently. There was silence, "Rose?" He called again.
Jack pushed the door open and when he did, his heart nearly leapt into his throat. Rose was laying on the bathroom floor, her arm strewn across her eyes. She was curled up into a ball. Jack dropped to his knees and leaned over her, tucking his hand behind her head, "Rose!" He said, tilting her upwards. Her eyes fluttered and when she opened them, he saw how bloodshot and tired they looked, "Rose! What's wrong?" He asked, holding her in his arms now, cradling her against him.
"Please," She whispered weakly, "don't jostle me around much."
"What happened?" He asked, nearly shaking as he gazed down at the pale woman.
"I'm just sick, that's all," Rose replied, closing her eyes again and tilting her head against his chest, "The tile floor felt so nice and cool."
"Have you been throwing up?"
"Not since I stopped moving," She croaked, "Probably just something I ate... maybe just the weather..."
"What hurts?" Jack asked, sitting criss cross now and pulling her into his lap.
"Everything..." She whispered, her eyes still closed.
"I should take you to a doctor," Jack said, glancing towards the door for a moment.
"No, I don't need to go," Rose opened her eyes now, scrunching her eyebrows together, "Really, please don't take me to the doctor."
"But what if you need medicine?" Jack insisted.
"I'm not running a fever," Rose told him, "It's probably just food poisoning or maybe a little cold. I got sick like this last year," She closed her eyes again as the lamp on the wall began to make her nauseous.
"Well, then, I'm taking you to bed," Jack slowly began shifting to his knees, picking Rose up bridal style. She sighed at the movement and tucked her forehead against his chest. Carefully, Jack manuevered out of the bathroom and carried her to the bed. He bent his knees slightly and gave the quilt a flick with his wrist to pull it back. Gently, he laid Rose against the pillows and knelt to the ground, pulling her boots off. He then swung her legs onto the mattress and watched her body sink in. Rose tilted her face into the coolness of the pillow as Jack pulled the quilt over her and seated himself on the edge of the bed, "Have you eaten today?"
Rose cracked her eyes open at what she thought was a ridiculous question, "No, how could I?"
"Sounds crazy, I know," Jack smirked, adjusting the blanket on her shivering body, "But you should probably put something in you. Even if it comes back up and out, at least you're putting some nutrition into you. I'll make you something light, okay?" He leaned forward and pecked her on the forehead.
"Jack, you don't have to stick around. This is an awful way to spend your afternoon. Don't worry about me. Maybe I just need sleep."
"Well, too bad, because Nurse Jack is here," Jack grinned. He brought his thumb on to gently caress her cheek, "I'll be back in just a moment."
Jack closed the door behind him and trudged down the carpet to the kitchen. He kicked his shoes off and rolled his sleeves, stepping into the kitchen. He peaked into the ice box. Rose had many different kinds of cheese and deli meats, some eggs and butter, but everything looked to be a little much for someone with an aching stomach. He then ventured to the cupboard, pulling a little string to illuminate the pantry. He glanced around, finding a bag of potatoes and onions, some sugar, brown sugar, and flow. He tilted his head up to the shelf above his head and smiled when he saw a few different cants of soup. He pulled a cluster down into his arm and took them to the kitchen counter, placing his hands on his hips. There was a beef stew. Peas and carrots brother. Mushroom soup. Tomato soup. Chicken noodle soup. Jack smiled, that was the one.
He put the rest of the cans away and brought salt, peppers, and oregano to the counter. He got a pot on the oven and ignited the pilot, allowing a steady flame to heat the bottom of the pot. He dumped the chicken noodle soup in and stirred a bit. He then snapped his fingers and busied himself over the sink cleaning the tea kettle out. He then promptly got it on a hot plate and began making a fresh batch of ginger tea, in hopes of calming Rose's stomach. He delicately sprinkled salt, pepper, and oregano bits into the soup, continuing to stir as it bubbled and popped at the surface. He took a curt whiff and grinned. Reminded him on the soup his mom would make him on a cold Wisconsin day, not much different than what they were experiencing in New York City currently.
Jack found a tray in a cupboard and poured a bowl liberally, hoping she would gain an appetite. He then gingerly placed her tea cup on a saucer and onto the tray. He walked down the hallway and eased the door open. Rose was awake, her eyes staring towards the ceiling, her arm over her forehead. Her green eyes looked to him and mustered a weak grin. Jack brought the tray to her night stand.
"Feelin' any better?" He asked.
"Nauseated," Rose replied, "And still not hungry, I'm sorry."
"Well, give the aroma a chance," Jack laughed, "At least drink the tea I made you. It has ginger in it," Jack held the tea cup out towards her and she took it into her hands, their fingers sliding over each other's.
"Thank you," She said quietly.
"I'm just gonna hang out in the living room and do something quiet," Jack told her, putting his hands into his pockets, "If you need anything, just holler, okay?"
Rose nodded and Jack began towards the door, but Rose called after him, making him pause, "Will you please bring me a mop bucket from under the sink? I think I'm going to throw up."
Jack smiled at her, he couldn't help himself, "Sure. I'll get you one."