Chapter Thirty-Five
January 8th, 1914
New York City, New York
Rose had woke up feeling rather awful. She did her best to conceal any discomfort she might have felt. She forced herself to eat breakfast with Jack, though it felt like she was chewing on ash. And she decided to go into work, not wanting to give in to feeling unwell. Rose looked realitively pale in the mirror, but had explained away to Jack she had accidentally used too much powder. The walk to work that cold, wet, and dreary day was an extreme pain for Rose. She kept her head down and her hands in her pockets as she braved the cold brunts of wind coming between the buildings. Deep inside her peacoat, she shivered. Her stomach tossled. Her knees felt weak.
Rose didn't even wait for the signal to cross the street as the diner came into view. She hustled across the street and into the dinner, nearly slamming the door after her. She took in an unsteady breath and seated herself in the booth beside the entrance. She held her chilled hand to her forehead for a moment as a bout of vertigo washed over her.
You're fine, you're fine... Rose told herself as the room spun around her. She blinked rapidly, willing it to return to normal. Bile stung the back of her throat as she gripped the edge of the table, nearly begging herself to feel well. Tears pricked the edges of her eyes as she let out a slow breath. Her head throbbed on her shoulders as finally, the vertigo waned.
Just then, Winston appeared from the kitchen with a tray of mugs in his arms, "Hey, Rose! Feelin' any better, doll?" He paused at the bar, setting his elbow on the rack of dishes, "You okay? Why're you sitting down?"
"My... my boots were dirty and slippery," Rose looked to him, nearly startled, "I was just cleaning them off."
"Are you sure?" Winston's bushy brow knitted together, "You're actin' strange, doll."
"Really, I'm fine," Rose popped up from the booth. Her nostrils flared as she struggled to keep her balance for the slightest moment, but she used the momentum to walk towards the kitchen, brushing past Winston nearly frenzied. She scattered for the back hallway and found the employee bathroom and managed to lock the door before she heaved her entire breakfast into the toilet.
...
Jack, Frenchie, and Iris sat at the community table. Frenchie was busy writing out his list of to-do's, who to contact, and what jobs were already lined up for the coming spring season. Iris and Jack were both busy drawing. Jack was doing something different for a change, and drawing his parents, as he had remembered them. Iris was busy drawing a wilted dandelion and had added in a neglected foot path. Jack glanced up fleetingly but double-took and paused when he saw Iris' paper.
"So, you can draw more than just flowers, huh?" Jack grinned, placing his chin in his hands.
"Guess so," Iris said, looking to him from behind her curtain of hair.
"I think you're doing tremendous," Frenchie told her, looking up from his paper, "Have you shown Jack what you've done with paint?"
"No."
"Wait- what!" Jack leaned forward, arching his eyebrows, "Do you have any here? Iris, I'd love to see them. Heck, you could become the third set of hands working here. We need it, right, Frenchie?"
"We are always busy," Frenchie agreed, nodding at Jack.
"Well, why haven't I seen one?" Jack asked.
"Because you're only here now to work," Iris sat up straight now, gripping her pencil between her fingers, "Half the time I can't even find you anymore."
Jack lowered his eyes to the dirty communal table. It had been well over a month since Jack had slept in his attic room. It only seemed right he went to Rose's apartment, where they could be alone. Jack used to always be available day and night to Frenchie and Iris. Now, they were lucky if he had beaten them to the studio that morning. It had obviously been a taxing change on his friends. For them, it was relative to left-field.
"So, do you live with her now?" Iris asked, placing her elbows to the table.
"Not exactly..." Jack replied slowly, gripping his pencil so tightly, he was sure it'd snap.
"You're just playing in the garden, is that it?" Iris cocked an eyebrow up.
"No," Jack let out a huff, clearly exasperated, "I just spend a lot of time with her. That's all. I'm not 'playing in the garden'."
"You say you're not going anywhere and yet," Iris shook her head, "I think you're slipping right between our fingers, Jack. How long until you simply disappear? You're no stranger to a nomadic lifestyle. Are you starting to miss God's goodwill?"
Jack pressed his pencil flat to the table, eyeing Iris closely. Frenchie's eyes darted between his assistant and sister almost nervously, "I don't like the way you're talking to me, Iris."
"Well, I don't like the way you've been treating us recently," Iris shot back, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, "We used to be like the Three Muskateers. We were always holed up in this studio like our lives depended on it. Now, we're lucky to have you here for eight hours with us."
"My lifestyle may have changed but I haven't," Jack replied, sitting up straight and tense in his stool, "I still have the same fun and get the same enjoyment out of our friendship as I did before. You couldn't expect me to live in that attic forever, Iris," Iris said nothing and only stared at Jack with pursed lips. Jack shook his head, growing aggravated, "You really believed I'd be there forever, huh? That I'd never get my life back together?"
"What're you saying?" Iris asked stiffly, "Now that you've gotten your life back together, you don't need us? We were only a crutch?"
"You have no idea how humbled I am by what you two have done for me," Jack replied, his voice full of ice, "You two gave me a job, somewhere to sleep, a reason to get up in the morning. And for that, I'm forever grateful. I love my job, I love working with Frenchie. Even if I do end up moving out, so what? 'Cause I'm still going to come back every morning and paint with my soul for Frenchie," Iris lowered her eyes now and stared at the table, dropping her pencil from her fingers, "I think there are some words that have still been left unsaid, Iris."
Iris looked to him now, nearly quivering, "No. I haven't anything left to say to you. I think I've said it all. My cards on the table," She slowly leaned in towards him, "What about yours?"
...
Luckily since it was such a dreary day, the first wave of customers were not many. Rose flitted back and forth between the kitchen and diner, pausing to take breaths at the bar. After coffee and juice were distributed, she tried to drink some tea, but still, her stomach tossled violently, threatening her with more illness. She pressed her hand to her temple and sighed, tilting her head down. The ache in her bones throbbed presently and the only thing she could think about was how tremedously awful she felt. Rose was beginning to think maybe Jack was right. Maybe she did need medicine.
Two orders came through the window and cook chimed the bell, startling Rose from a momentary break. She set her tea down carelessly and hustled the plates while they were warm to the correct table. By the time she returned, more food was waiting for her. Once the tables were served, Rose returned to her perch behind the bar, pressing her hands against the rim of stainless steel sink. She felt cold inside, but her skin was plagued in a thin layer of sweat. She took a deep breath, willing herself to catch a grip. Rose cleared her throat and stood up straight, glancing around. The room spun a bit more after and Rose reached for the bar to steady herself.
Come on! Rose thought to herself, knitting her eyebrows together, What is wrong with me!? I'm acting melodramatic, like my own mother! Rose's stomach knotted in detest, making her wince. With shakey hands, she reached for her mug of tea and unsteadily drank. She spied Winston coming down the aisle of tables, taking a few moments to speak to some patrons. Rose turned away, using the back of her hand to clear any present sweat. The door jingled and she sighed in dismay at the thought of having to move more. She wanted to simply climb into bed and put her head under the quilt.
"Rose," She heard Winston's leather soled shoes clap against the tile as he came around the bar, "Customer. It's Mr. Calvert."
Rose's eyes grew wide at his name. She hadn't spoken to him in nearly a month. And he hadn't been at the diner in who knew how long. Her entire body began to ache pitifully. She bit down on her lip, holding in the flood of curses behind her lips. On top of being sick, why did this have to happen, too?
"Doll, did ya hear me?" Winston said from behind. Rose's head immediately snapped to look at him over her shoulder.
"Yes, Tim's here," She said as calmly as possible. Slowly, she wiped her sweaty palms down her apron, "I'm on my way."
Rose was brushing past Winston when his thick hand grabbed hold of her willowy arm, gluing her in place beside him, "What has gotten into you?" Winston asked, looking deep into her troubled green eyes, "You don't look well, Rose. Have you been sleeping?"
"I'm fine," Rose insisted, glancing to his hand clamped around her arm, "I think I'm just not one hundred percent over what I had during the holidays. That's all."
"Does this have anything to do with Tim?" Winston asked, "I haven't seen him in weeks."
Rose pursed her lips and glanced out to the diner, her head throbbing with a headache. She finally looked back to her boss and shook her head, "We aren't seeing each other anymore."
Winston released Rose's arm and she continued past him without a moments delay. She stepped into the aisle and fished her notepad out from the pocket of her apron. When she turned the familiar direction she saw him, the natural creature of habit, sitting in the booth that overlooked the wet intersection. He was looking out the window, his hair falling across his forehead. Rose thought her knees were surely going to give out as her heels echoed on the tile floor. She approached the side of his table and he slowly turned his hazels eyes on her. Rose felt all the blood in her body sink and she tried to hide the shaking of her frame.
"Rose," He said softly, "Good morning... it's good to see you."
"Good morning, Tim," She nearly croaked. Rose cleared her throat, fiddling with the pencil in her hand, "How are you?"
"Staying busy," Tim replied, lowering his eyes, "What about you?"
"The same," Rose said, trying to force a smile.
"Look..." Tim sighed and looked to her. The snow outside glinted across his glasses, "Rose, I really want to talk to you again. I think now that the holidays are over, we should really revisit what's happened. I think it's important that we discuss it."
Rose had to remind herself to breath in and out, "Maybe... sometime soon."
"Can we set a day and a time?" Tim asked, "Please, Rose. This is important to me."
"What do we need to discuss?"
Suddenly, Tim look annoyed. Rose had never seen him so much as even exasperated with her. He knit his eyebrows together now. He kept his voice low, but curt, as he spoke, "Are you kidding me right now, Rose? You know what we need to discuss."
"Now's not a good time-"
"When is it ever a good time for you, Rose?" Tim asked, his cheeks growing red.
Rose was about to respond when suddenly, she felt a rush of blood to her head. A blackness faded in on her and she staggered backwards, hitting her head on a table as she collapsed onto the tile floor, sending a gasp and a jump of dishes throughout the diner.
...
The first thing Rose could hear next was the soft padding of shoes against a tile floor. Her head was throbbing everywhere. She began to stir ever so slightly and that's when she felt something sliding against her arm. Rose's eyes snapped open and she sat forward, her breathing hitching up her throat. She was lying in a bed in a room painted egg-shell white. The quilt on top of her crumpled forward in her lap. Rose lifted her hand to feel a cloth bandage taped along her hairline on the right side of her forehead. Rose's heart beat ferociously in her chest as slowly, the sequence of events began to seep back into her. Rose's breathing shallowed as she leaned against the goose down pillow behind her. She gripped the quilt so hard, her knuckles turned white.
A woman in a black and white gown appeared from a curtained off area of Rose's room and she grinned upon seeing the patient awake and seemingly conscious. She turned for the door and opened it, leaning out into a hallway. A few moments later, an elderly man wearing a long white coat came into the room. Both he and the nurse came to the end of the bed.
"Mrs. Dawson, hello," The man spoke first, "I am Dr. Carson. Do you know where you are?"
"A... hospital?" Rose replied hesitently. Her entire head throbbed from her voice.
"Actually, a clinic," Dr. Carson grinned. He came to the side of her bed now, his hands tucked behind his back, "We were the closest available unit for your transport. You came by ambulance. Mrs. Dawson, do you remember the events leading up to your temporary loss in consciousness?"
"Yes," Rose nodded. She folded her hands atop the quilt, "I was at work. I am a waitress and was serving a customer when..." Rose shrugged, "Suddenly everything just went black."
Dr. Carson unwound his stethoscope from his neck and had Rose sit up. He placed it on her back and listened carefully for a moment, "Do you have a history of fainting spells, Mrs. Dawson?"
"No," Rose replied as the cool stethoscope moved across her back, causing a chill to ripple down her spine.
Dr. Carson now pressed the stethoscope above her heart, his eyebrows knitted together, "Any significant family medical history?"
"No," Rose said again, looking up to the doctor, "Relatively all healthy and normal."
Dr. Carson pulled the quilt back on Rose and inspected her legs for a moment. He then began prodding at her knees and hips. The nurse directed Rose to lay back as the doctor did a physical examination above her dress, "What does your diet primarily consist of?"
"I eat breads, cheeses, and drink milk," Rose said as he touched her abdomen, "Salad, vegetables. Sometimes fruit. Occasionally pasta."
"Any known food allergies?"
"No."
"Do you eat regularly?" Dr. Carson asked, pausing his examination and looking to her.
"At least twice a day," Rose told him.
"Hm," Dr. Carson nodded, "So the fainting spell is rather surprising to you?"
"I certainly wasn't expecting it, no," Rose said, "I've been sick recently, so maybe it's related to that."
"Can you describe what kind of illness you just had?" Dr. Carson asked, pulling a steno pad out, "Duration, side effects, anything you did to mitigate the pain?"
"Well, I think it was all the rather standard illness that strikes many during the cold season," Rose shrugged, "Nausea, chills, vertigo, no appetite. The best remedy in my opinion was bed rest."
Dr. Carson put his steno pad on the nightstand and again did a routine physical exam around Rose's stomach all the way down to the middle of her thighs. He looked to his nurse and they nodded to each other. Rose sat up now.
"Dr. Carson, what do you think it is?"
"Well, Mrs. Dawson," Dr. Carson consulted his steno pad once more and glanced to Rose's patient gown, "My medical opinion is that you're pregnant."
"What?" Rose's jaw nearly hit the floor, "You think I'm pregnant?!"
"I would say you're nearly through to the second trimester," Dr. Carson told her, "During my physical exam, I was able to feel your abdomen was hard to the touch. Go on and feel," Rose brought her shaky palm to rest where she was directed, "That's your body's natural defense to protect the baby. I would predict by my medical examination that conception was some time in November."
Rose's entire body grew cold and she trembled in the bed. She waxed and waned between being frightened yet excited. The fear, however, was the overwhelming force. Rose's stomach tossled again and she was certain she was going to be sick. The nurse brought her a bucket within a few moments.
"The nausea and vertigo you're feeling should subside as you reach later stages of your pregnancy. Your diet will need to consist of more fatty foods and for the time being, you should be on bed rest. I can provide you with an official letter for your employer," Dr. Carson told Rose as her head dangled over the bucket, bile stinging the back of her throat, "As for your head, you're going to be fine. You didn't require stitches. It'll be a nasty bruise for awhile."
Rose slowly lowered the bucket away from her as it became clear nothing was going to come out of her. She kept her eyes trained downward as she still struggled to soak in what Dr. Carson had just told her.
"Mrs. Dawson?"
She lifted her eyes now to look at the patient doctor.
"You're going to be just fine," He told her with a smile, "Whenever you're ready to go, you're free."
...
The snow was piled high on either side of the foot path as Rose walked home. The overcast of clouds had dissipated and the sky was a beautiful sherbert as twilight began to descend. Rose walked with her eyes straight forward. She had ripped the bandage off her head a block from the clinic. The bruise was black and purple, splattered across her porcelain skin like a dropped bucket of paint. She still had not come quite to terms with what she had been told. She still could not believe this entire time she simply hadn't been sick... she had been carrying Jack's baby.
Rose felt tears prick her eyes and her breath puffed out before her as she crossed the street, her boots crunching through the snow. She didn't know how she felt about the news. Part of her thought it was a wonderful idea, having a baby with Jack. But again, that splendor was extinguished by the confrontation of reality. How could she provide for a baby? How would she keep this from Tim? He was a smart man and Rose's actions would really be in the spotlight. She felt absolutely horrible about herself in that moment. She paused outside her apartment and pressed her hand to her stomach, biting down on her lip.
Why couldn't you wait a bit to come along? Why now?
Rose sighed and dusted her boots off as she entered the desserted lobby. Slowly she walked down the hall and turned the doorknob. It was unlocked, which meant Jack had beaten her home. When she came through the door, she saw the back of Jack's head on the couch. He was facing towards the window, smoking a cigarette. He had his feet propped up on some books.
Rose closed the door and faced away from him as she heard him get up from the couch. Jack crossed towards the window and flicked his cigarette out, "Hey," He finally said, putting his hands in his pockets.
"Hey," She replied as cooly as possible. She kept her back to him as she shrugged out of her coat, taking her time to arrange it neatly on the rack.
"Did you pick up a shift at the diner?" Jack asked, "I didn't expect to beat you home."
Rose squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and took a deep breath, flaring her nostrils. She turned to Jack and she watched his face light up in utter shock.
"Christ, Rose," Jack came across the living room in a moments notice, "What the hell happened? Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Rose heaved a sigh, her shoulders sagging in his grip, "I fainted at work and... I hit my head against a table," She told him, rather sheepishly.
"I told you, we need to take you to a doctor," Jack said, gripping her arms tightly in his hands, "No price is too much if it means they can help you, Rose."
"I went to the doctor," Rose told him, looking to his blue eyes, "Well, actually, I woke up in a doctor's office."
"And?" Jack asked, rather eagerly, "What did he have to say?"
"He said I'm pregnant," Rose replied evenly, "He said I've been pregnant since November."
She felt his grasp loosen on her arms and he straightened up a bit, "Pregnant?" He slowly paced a few steps, raking his hand through his blond hair. He let out a long breath and turned to her, grinning crookedly, "I guess I'm not surprised," He finally said with a shrug.
"You're not?" Rose asked, still glued in spot beside the coat rack.
"No," Jack's smile never wavered as he crossed to Rose, wrapping his arms around her, "Because you and I get in bed together like there's no tomorrow."
Rose brought her shakey hands up to tenderly lay against his jaw and neck, "Sometimes, in my world, it feels like there is no tomorrow."
Jack looked down on Rose, the painted bruise on her forehead paining him to look at. He only held her tighter in his arms now, "It doesn't have to feel like that anymore, Rose. Things are going to be different now. We're having a baby. Just think about that."
"I hope the baby has your eyes," Rose allowed herself to smile now as Jack's warmth and security encapsulated her, "I hope the baby is wise like you. And a caring soul like you."
Jack pressed his forehead to Rose's smiling all the while, "Are you kidding me? I hope that kid comes out with a fire on top of its head."
This sent Rose into a roll of chuckles as she fell against him. They held each other tightly in that moment, allowing their trust and promises to seep through to each other. But a knock on the door drew them away from that. Jack wasn't even thinking as he released Rose and opened the door. But when he did, it felt as if he was looking head on towards a train steaming directly at him. Standing in the doorway, with a face of equal shock, was Tim.