Chapter Fifty-Eight
July 16th, 1914
New York City, New York
The ladder creaked beneath Jack as he climbed to the top, straddling over it with his pallette in his lap. He let out a long sigh and gazed down the painting that was nearing completion. Frenchie really had gone, Jack realized, when he let himself into the studio that morning. Jack had stayed at the studio for the rest of the evening hoping Frenchie's anger would have subsided before he even made it to the train station. But obviously, he was gone, and Frenchie really had steamed south to Maryland on his fool's errand. Jack looked over his shoulder towards the communal table to see Rose sitting there, hunched over a novel she had been reading. The days approaching the release of her new novel was narrowing, as was the baby's arrival. Rose was excited, naturally, but she hadn't felt well in a few days. She was at the tipping point of nausea, constant aches and pains, and throbbing headaches. Jack decided it'd do her some good to have her out of the house and in a different environment. Since he knew Frenchie really did go to Maryland, he decided to take Rose to work with him.
She lifted her head slightly from reading her novel, absent-mindedly twirling a curl around her slender finger. Her eyes slowly scanned up the ladder to Jack, who was dabbing his paintbrush and continuing his work of a customer's farm scene reimagined. She could see his facial muscles were taut. He usually seemed so fluid and loose when he painted. It almost hurt her heart to see him so tense as he reached out towards the canvas. After a moment, he noticed her staring.
"What'cha lookin' at?" Jack asked, doing his best to display his typical boyish grin.
"I'm looking at a very tired man," Rose smiled, too, cradling her head in her hand.
"A tired man? Where?" Jack looked around the room, earning a soft giggle from Rose, "I'm not tired, I'm just..." He took a deep breath, hunching his shoulders. He gazed down towards Rose from his stoop atop the ladder, "I'm just frustrated. It seems like right now it is so important everything goes right, but it feels like everything is just going wrong."
"Seems like just our luck, doesn't it?" Rose asked, toying with the corner of the page she was on, "I just wish you didn't have to be so stressed out. You work so hard... sometimes I worry you work yourself too hard."
Jack looked to his painting for a moment, not feeling an ounce of inspiration in his bones. The current whirlwind of emotions that boiled between his brother-sister friend group had taken much more of a toll on him than he expected. He more than anything longed for everything to calm down. Just once, he pleaded. Jack heaved a sigh and dismounted from the ladder, carelessly dropping the pallette on the mat crumpled all over the floor. He knew it was important to complete the commission, but he couldn't do it himself. Jack came to the table and seated himself beside Rose.
"I don't work too hard," He told her after situating himself in the creaky stool, "And I don't want you to think that I do. I'd do anything in the world for you and if that meant I had to work in a coal mine for twelve hours a day, I would do it."
"Oh goodness, well hopefully you're not looking to change career paths," Rose grinned at the thought. She reached her arm out, looping it through Jack's, "Everything is going to be alright. I've never had a sibling of my own, but I know that Frenchie and Iris would never allow for their relationship to end, no matter how at ends they are with each other. This beau-situation will blow over eventually. All we can do is wait and hope for the best."
Jack grinned, reaching his hand out and pressing it to Rose's swollen belly, "Wow, Rose... Violet's really made you wise."
She threw her head back and laughed. Jack melted at the sound of her voice, as sweet and light as cotton candy. As he looked at the love of his life, her words began to take on a new enlightening meaning to him and he clung to the idea that things would be okay, slowly but surely. Rose gave him hope. And so did the baby blossoming in her womb. Gently, his hand reached out and just barely skimmed her jaw. Her green eyes fell on him and he nearly fell face first into a field of lush plants. She was his rock, he told himself. He knew she would keep him grounded when all life made him want to do was float away.
"Hey... I just thought of a new baby name," Jack told her.
"Oh, really?" Rose arched her eyebrows, "For a boy or a girl?"
"For a girl, of course," Jack grinned crookedly, "What about Hope?"
"Hope?" Rose echoed. She said the name to herself twice more, slowly nodding, "Hope Dawson... I really like that, Jack. It's a name with real meaning."
"I was thinkin' the same thing," He replied softly, lowering his hands to rest on either side of her large belly. Just beneath his hands, he imagined that baby, who was probably itching to break free from the confines of their safe space. He began to imagine the baby's future, a bright one with endless possibilities, nobody to stand in their way or take away what's theirs.
Jack knew the world was not ready for Baby Dawson, but Baby Dawson was ready for the world.
...
July 18th, 1914
New York City, New York
Jack was beginning to grow worried as he and Rose unlocked the studio that morning and entered to find it desserted. Jack flicked the lights on and they growled lowly as the faintest and dimmest light began to illuminate the room. Rose waddled towards the table, rubbing her lower back, which had been aching since the middle of the night, leaving her awake to toss and turn in bed like a fish out of water. Jack sighed, pressing his hands to his hips as he slowly wandered around the large work space. He raked his hair from his face and shook his head. Rose looked over her shoulder as she slowly eased herself onto a stool at the table.
"Frenchie has been gone for too long, Rose," Jack said, still just standing in a perplexed manner in the center of a space that used to be his getaway from reality, "Something's happened. Something had to of. He should have been back by now, whether her had Iris in tow or not. The train ride isn't long at all. He should-"
Suddenly, the studio door was flung open. Jack was surprised and turned to face the entry as Frenchie and Iris came in, both speaking at the same time to each other, running the other person's sentence over before they could even get their point across.
"And I sent you a letter to be hand delivered about my trip-"
"We have so many commissions lined up, we are busting out the ass with-"
"Why can't you just let me have some relaxation time-"
"You've never been gone for this-"
"You've owned and operated this studio for nearly eight years-"
"I need your help-"
"You've never needed-"
Jack watched as the bickering siblings brushed past him without even looking at him. They were so caught up in trumping the other, their cheeks red, their eyes full of flames. Jack looked back towards the doorway to see a rather flustered Tim left in the trail of anger between Iris and Frenchie, who still were yelling on top of each other. Sheepishly, Tim closed the door behind him and set Iris' luggage beside the empty coat rack. He rubbed the nape of his neck and came to stand beside Jack.
"They haven't stopped fighting in nearly two days," Tim said.
"What happened?"
"Well, Frenchie was waiting for us when we came back to land from our little excursion," Tim explained, still watching Frenchie and Iris' sharp hand gestures and exasperated growls, "And to be honest... I've been so lost the entire fight. I've never fought with my sister's this much. I just feel bad. I didn't know I was taking Iris away from her work."
"You weren't!" Iris suddenly exclaimed, "Frenchie is being inconsiderate, rude, persumptuous, every word in the book! You're not being a good brother right now!"
"Oh, really? Because I'm looking out for your well-being!" Frenchie shot back, "Just like I told Dad I would and just like I promised Mom!"
"You seriously are not bringing them up right now," Iris held her hand out at him, her cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red, "This isn't about Momma and Papa. This is about us, Frenchie. They're not here and if they were, I don't think they would be as harsh as you're being right now."
"And how would you know?!"
"Because I knew Momma and Papa, too!" Iris cried, throwing her hands at her side, "Just because you knew them for six years longer than me, does not mean I didn't know who my parents really were. Momma always told me I was a hopeless romantic, but hoped I got what I wanted. This is what I want, Frenchie! To be with Tim!"
"How can you be so sure?" Frenchie asked, "You've barely known the man for three weeks and you're off taking lavish vacations with him! I've never seen you act so recklessly."
"Recklessly?" Iris echoed, nearly incredulously, "Everyone starts as a stranger, Frenchie! Did you think the same thing when I had only known Jack for three weeks!?"
"That's different."
"How?!" Iris screeched so loud, her voice pierced through the empty studio space. A silence fell between the siblings, their shoulders rising and falling as the misery of being pitted against each other set into their skin. Iris pensively licked her lips, "This is no different, Frenchie. You're just scared of the future and you're trying so hard to glue all of us in place. Things change, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worst. But you cannot hold any of that against us. We can't change what's happened and we can't predict what's soon to come."
"Iris, I love you," Frenchie told her, almost meekly, "And I just want to protect you."
"You're not protecting me from anything," Iris replied, "If anything, you're hurting me."
"That was never my intention-"
"Doesn't make it not true-"
"Iris, please, I just need more time-"
"When is it ever a good time to talk to you!?" Iris curled her hands into fist, "All you want to talk about is art, art, art! Even at home you're reading an art magazine or you're painting on the walls! When do you ever take a break? Why does it take me meeting someone to pull you out of that little world you in live in!?"
"Iris, I-"
Frenchie was cut short, however, by a cry of pain that had everyone's heads snapping towards the table. Rose staggered from her stool, pressing her hands to her stomach. She let out another cry, her knees growing weak underneath her. Tim was the closest and, luckily, had sharp reflexes. He reached forward and grabbed Rose before she could roughly fall onto her knees. Jack was quick to jump in and help lower Rose to the ground, where she let out another cry, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.
"What is it!?" Jack asked hurriedly, brushing curls from her face that was already gathering a thin sheen of sweat across the skin.
"I... I think the baby is coming...!" Rose said in a pinched voice.
"What?! Now?!" Jack's face paled, "It's too early, Rose! The doctor said not until August! Are you sure?!"
"Jack," Tim lifted his head above Rose's, "her water just broke."
Jack said every curse word in the book, "Our mid-wife is in New Jersey until the end of the month! Where is the nearest clinic!?"
"Jack... I won't make it to the clinic," Rose said between pants. Her voice wavered and she shook in his arms, "The baby is coming now."
"Shit, shit, shit," Jack shook his head, looking around the studio in a near frenzy, "Iris, get all of the linens and sheets I left in the attic. Frenchie, buckets of water. Tim, I need you to help me move her somewhere comfortable," Jack began to wrap his arm around Rose's waist, but paused when he saw Iris and Frenchie glued in spot, "Did you hear me!?" He shouted, "Go!" The Cohan siblings scattered about the studio. Rose let out a cry as Tim and Jack slowly lifted her to her weak feet, "It's okay, Rose. It's going to be fine."
"What are you going to do!?" She asked, her eyes brimming with tears now.
"I'm going to deliver the baby," Jack told her.
Slowly, the trio began to inch across the studio, towards the crumpled and paint smudged mats beneath the large canvases that were begging to be finished. The only thing to be heard were Rose's pained cries echoing through the large work space.