Chapter Forty-Eight
March 28th, 1914
New York City, New York
When Jack went into the studio that morning, he was surprised to see Iris was at the communal table, her jacket draped over her as she lay her head down. He closed the door quietly behind him and glanced around for Frenchie, but he didn't see him. It was nearly nine in the morning. Jack crossed to Iris, gently placed his hand into her shoulder blade. Her eyes fluttered.
"Hey, Iris..." Jack whispered. She roused from her sleep, her cheek red from resting against her arm. Iris rubbed at the crick in her neck as she gazed up at him, "What're you doin' here?"
"Oh, Jack," Tears sprung to Iris' eyes instantly and she gripped at his arms, "It's horrible. Last night, our mother collapsed unexpectantly. We had to call for help... and... she's not doing well. I stayed with her through the night and Frenchie rested so we could swap out. I... couldn't go home," Iris rubbed at the tears spilling over her eyes, but they did not stop, "I decided to just come here."
"What?" Jack's eyes widend, "Iris, why didn't you come to my house? Why didn't anybody come find me?"
"I didn't want to disturb you," Iris replied, her voice cracking, "Rose needs her rest..."
"Iris..." Jack sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, "She would never stand between me and the people I care about. Besides, she cares for you, too."
"Coming here was easier," Iris finally said, placing her elbows on the table as the tears continued down her flushed cheeks, "This is happening all too fast. It was like this with Papa, too. We knew he was sick but..." She paused for a moment, biting down on her lip, "We didn't know he would be gone so soon," She finally whispered.
"You should go home and get some proper sleep," Jack told her.
"No," Iris looked at him with her bloodshot eyes, "I don't want to be in that home. That's where she fell and she... she bled. I don't want to see it."
"Did Frenchie sleep here, too?" Iris only nodded in response. Jack ran his tongue over the front of his teeth for a moment, glancing around the studio, "What if I went and made sure everything was cleaned first? Would you be okay to sleep there?"
"I don't want to be alone there," She told him.
"What if I sat in the living room and did something while you napped?" Jack offered, "I'll do the same for Frenchie, too."
"You'd do that for us?" Iris asked quietly, tears still brimming her eyes.
"Without a second thought," Jack replied, "I'll take care of everything on the home front. You two just focus on what you can do for your mother, okay?"
Iris took a deep breath and nodded, pushing some hair from her face, "Okay... will you come get me when it's all cleaned up?"
"Yes," Jack told her, "Until then, try to draw something. Clear your mind."
Iris nodded, but made no move to reach for her supplies on the shelf below. Jack lingered for a moment before he was out the door. He went straight back home and bee lined towards the kitchen, where Rose was eating a piece of toast.
"Home already?" Rose asked, perplexed.
"No, just need cleaning supplies," Jack replied, kneeling beneath the sink and taking stock of what they had. He grabbed glass cleaner, tile cleaner, wood cleaner, and carpet cleaner. He threw them into a bag, with a brush and a few rags.
"What for?" Rose came to her feet, adjusting her dress around her noticeable bump.
Jack finally took a breath, setting the bag on the table and explained what he had learned from Iris. Rose listened intently and was obviously mortified for them.
"Let me help," Rose told him, "I'll help you clean and even take shifts with you, staying in the house with them to make them comfortable. Cooking to be sure they're eating."
"Are you sure?" Jack asked, "That won't set you behind on your next deadline, will it?"
"No, certainly not," Rose shook her head, "Come on, let's go."
...
Iris and Frenchie's house was not a far walk at all. Jack used his key to let them in. All the lights in the house had been left on from the night before. Dishes sat on the dining room table beyond the living room. Jack spied some pots lined up on the counter. The house was left as it was, in the heat of the moment, and obviously during dinner. Jack glanced down the hallway of bedrooms while Rose rounded the couch and began towards the dining room table. She stopped abruptly, however, and looked over her shoulder towards Jack, who was setting the bag of cleaning supplies down.
"I found where we need to clean," She told him, her stomach churning at the sight. Jack came to stand beside her and together, they looked down at the floor. Just where the cream carpet met the edge of the kitchen tile was the mess. The carpet was stained a dark cherry red and more dried blood had splattered across the tile. Rose placed her hand on her swollen belly, her nostrils flaring, as she looked down on the bloodiness.
Jack rubbed the nape of his neck, "Irene must have taken a hell of a fall."
"That's... a lot of blood," Rose said, almost unsteadily.
"Why don't you put fresh sheets on the beds and take stock on the pantry?" Jack gently touched her shoulder, "I'll take care of this."
"Okay," Rose nodded. Robotically, she turned and went down the hallway. She found a closet and was pleased to discover they had plenty of linen. She pulled three sets down, the quilts creating quite the burden. Rose set all of it along the wall and started in Iris' bedroom. It was clean and neat besides her desk. Rose slowly approached the back of the chair and gazed down on the workspace. There were many different sketches, some completed, some looking abandoned. Rose looked above the desk to see taped to the wall a very grainy photo. It was of four people, entangled in a mass of arms. Rose recognized Iris, who was much younger, sandwiched in between. She stuck out amongst her family. Her mother, father, and brother were dark haired and dark eyed. Iris was like an angel with her ashen hair and bright blue eyes. Rose's eyes lingered on whom she assumed was Iris' father. Frenchie was nearly the spitting image of the man.
Rose began pulling the sheets off of Iris' bed, thinking about how unfair the universe could be sometimes. Iris and Frenchie had a loving family. It was cruel they had to be separated so soon. Meanwhile, it seemed, Rose and her parents had been destined to fester in misery together forever. Rose shook her head and squared her shoulders as she began pulling new fresh sheets onto the bed.
That's all gone, Rose told herself, Don't be stupid. Don't give in to any of that.
Rose balled up the discarded sheets and dropped them on floor in the hallway, hauling a new set of sheets into Frenchie's room. When she entered, she paused, lowering the quilts in her hands. Frenchie's walls had been completely painted in murals. Beautiful vines, full of blooming roses the colors of the rainbow. Dark stormy clouds giving way to a beautiful sun. Frenchie was even able to convey god-beams, piercing across the abundant foliage he had painted, sprouting from his base boards. When Rose turned to the wall facing the bed, she was stunned in place, to see a beautiful woman with long blonde hair, splayed across a marble slab, full of cracks, and wavy ivy vines. She was wearing a loose white slip, which shimmered in the sunlight. Rose could almost feel the satin it was made of. Her head was tilted back into the sun, her eyes closed, and her lips pursed into a lighthearted grin. Between her slender manicured fingers, she grasped a simple yellow rose. Beyond the carefree woman lay what looked to be ancient Rome, crumbling, and falling apart.
Rose approached the mural slowly, running her fingers along the paint strokes, feeling the texture. She sighed, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead to the wall. None of this was right. She wished it wasn't this way for so many people. She craved dearly in that moment to change the world. Some days she wondered if it was fair to bring a child into all of this.
...
Jack returned to the studio to find Iris with her head back down. She hadn't moved from her spot since Jack had left two hours ago. He had to stop at his house and change his shirt. His cuffs had been stained in their mother's blood. He approached her quietly, setting his hand on her back. She stirred at his tender touch.
"Hey, you should go home and rest now. Everything is cleaned up and there's fresh sheets on your bed," Jack told her.
"Aren't you going back with me?" Iris asked, fear and sorrow reflecting in her eyes.
"Rose is there," Jack replied, "I'm going to check on Frenchie at the hospital."
"Okay..." She whispered, lowering her eyes that stung with fresh tears. She came to her feet and for a moment, she thought they were going to give out from beneath her. Slowly, Iris walked towards the door with Jack at her side. They stepped outside to the warm spring afternoon. She squinted against the harsh sunlight with no cloud cover.
"Will you be alright?" Jack asked.
Iris looked at him for a moment, blinking rapidly, "I think so."
...
Rose heard the front door open within an hour of Jack leaving. She had been busy huddled over the stove to make a simple chicken noodle soup in hopes that Iris and Frenchie would find it in themselves to eat. She glanced to the carpet at the edge of the kitchen. Jack had done a great job cleaning the stain. Rose entered the dining room and gazed into the living room to see Iris closing the front door, her wide and tired eyes darting everywhere. She paused when she saw Rose, who was looking at her with sympathy.
"Hi, Iris," Rose said softly, coming to the back of the couch and fiddling absently with a cushion, "Have you eaten today?"
Iris slowly shrugged, shifting her feet back and forth, "I'm not hungry."
"That's fine," Rose replied, "I can understand that. Did you want to take a bath or anything before you go to bed?"
"No," Iris said, walking down the hallway without looking at Rose again.
Rose fidgeted with her engagement ring, chewing on her lip all the while. Rose followed after Iris as the girl walked like a zombie, lazily using her shoulder to barge through her bedroom door. Iris glanced fleetingly at the fresh blankets on her bed. She then went to her closet. Rose appeared in the doorway, watching Iris carefully.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" Rose asked, watching as Iris pulled a dark blue cotton nightgown from her closet. Iris laid it out across her bed and without another thought, unbuttoned her dress and let it drop to the floor. It certainly caught Rose by surprise, but Iris didn't seem to care in the moment. She reached for the nightgown and stepped into it, looking over her shoulder at Rose, who was recomposing herself.
"I don't need anything," Iris told her, pulling the blankets back on her bed. She took a moment to fluff her pillows before she seated herself on the edge, the springs creaking beneath her. Iris folded her hands into her lap, anxiously wringing her fingers together.
"Did you... want to talk about it?" Rose asked slowly, leaning against the door frame.
Iris lifted her eyes to Rose, staring at her silently for a few moments, "Not with you, no."
Rose felt herself flush a little before she nodded, "Okay," She whispered, somewhat hurt, "Let me know if you need anything," Quietly, Rose closed the door behind her. She wandered slowly down the hallway, hugging herself around her growing stomach. She let out a long sigh, pressing her back to the cool wall, and closing her eyes.
...
Jack was directed to the second floor of the Central New York City Hospital, room number thirty-four. He stopped abruptly in the doorway, looking at the scene before him. Frenchie was hunched down on a stool with his back to Jack. He was gripping his mother's motionless hand, pressing it to his forehead. Jack could see his shoulders bobbing as he struggled to cry silently. In the bed, Irene laid with her dark hair twisted into a messy knot atop her head. She had an oxygen mask covering her face. She didn't move in the slightest.
"Frenchie..." Jack whispered, his heart breaking for his friend. He approached the side of the sobbing artist, tenderly gripping his shoulder, "I'm so sorry..." He whispered, his voice husky with hurt. Frenchie's head snapped up, his eyes sopping wet. His cheeks were rosy, his lips sputtering together as he struggled to hold himself in one piece. Frenchie gripped Jack's wrist, the tears rolling down his cheeks.
"Jack," Frenchie's voice was pinched, "what am I going to do? How can I live without my mother? She's... she's always been there for me."
Jack pursed his lips for a moment, looking gravely to Irene, "Don't talk like that," Jack replied lowly, "This may not be the end, Frenchie."
Frenchie paused and looked at his mother for a moment before he stood, gesturing for Jack to step out of the room with him. Frenchie sighed, closing the door behind him. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his wool cardigan, training his eyes towards his boots, "I know you're an optimist, Jack, but... this isn't looking too good," His eyes became wet again and he rubbed at them sorely. He let out an uneven breath, "I just... I keep hearing the sound of her head hitting the ground," He squeezed his eyes shut, but in the next moment, was looking to Jack worriedly, "Where is Iris?"
"Back at home," Jack told him, "Rose is staying with her while she gets some sleep."
Frenchie let out a long sigh and reached his hand out towards Jack, squeezing his arm. Jack thought for a moment the artist was going to fall over from exhaustion, but he continued to cling to Jack heavily, "I can't thank you enough, Jack... for everything you're doing for us..."
"Frenchie, bud, don't worry about that," Jack replied, "Why don't we get some coffee and give your mom some quiet time?"
Frenchie looked longingly through the window on the door, "Okay. I could use some, anyway."