Chapter Sixty

October 2nd, 1914
New York City, New York

The warm weather was finally getting staved off by the more aggressive chilliness of autumn. Along the roads of Rose and Jack's neighborhoods, the trees were slowly transcending into yellows and oranges. The pristine equally shared yards of the townhomes were becoming pale, like wheat, and were beginning to give a satisfying crunch beneath the inhabitants feet. The radios were constantly abuzz with the rumor that New York City would be seeing an early snowfall that year.

Hope Charlotte Dawson was shaping up to be the most adored and beloved baby on the block. Several of their neighbors made a point to come and visit her once word had spread that she had been brought home. Many showed up with casseroles sealed in glass dishes, small blankets of pastel purples and pinks, and even some cloth diapers that the families no longer needed. At just under three months old, Jack and Rose still bickered over who she was looking like the most. Her soft blonde curls had grown out even more and bounced lightly on her head with every movement. As the days went on for Hope, Jack and Rose realized she was a giggly baby and when she smiled at Rose in the morning, Rose couldn't help but melt. Her green eyes looked like lavish emerald jewels. She had Rose's nose and Jack's lips and chin. Who she was going to become in the world had Jack and Rose daydreaming all the while.

Rose's favorite part of the day was entering the nursery in the morning to see Hope with her eyes wide open, following the spinning mobile of seagulls Jack had found at a local toy store. She would kick her legs back and forth in her plaid footy-pajamas as Rose flung the window open to welcome the cool morning breeze. She would then bond with Hope over a breast feeding and every day, Rose couldn't help but marvel over the baby. She couldn't believe her and Jack had created a whole new life together. She loved Hope with every ounce of her being. Since July 18th, Rose had lived her life in complete dedication to Hope Charlotte. Though the delivery had been startling and every single one of their tedious plans had fallen through, Rose was happy with how it happened. It spoke deeply to her, reminding her life wasn't perfect and to not sweat the little meticulous details.

Rose's book, The Greater Heights, had hit the shelves at the beginning of August and had been met with very moderate success for a first time author. Thomas was absolutely thrilled with the sales Rose had been able to drag in for the company and she spent many nights fantasizing about her next novel that she hoped really would take her to the greatest heights. Work for Jack had luckily settled down and returned to normal in the days following Hope's nearly miraculous birth. It was almost as if Frenchie had seen the light on July 18th when he assisted in delivering the surprise baby. He suddenly admired Tim for his chilvary in assisting Rose and gave Iris his blessing. Iris and Tim had continued to see each other, but there had been no news on the front of any impending engagement, which was fine for Frenchie and Jack, who, for once, just wanted to catch a damn break in their life.

Jack coming home as the sky bled into sherberts was the cherry on top for Rose. Nothing warmed her heart more than coming out from the kitchen with a piping mug of peppermint tea to see Jack laying on his back holding Hope in the air. The baby certainly got enjoyment from it as she cooed and wagged every limb back and forth, jabbing her pudgey fingers in the direction of her doting father. Rose would lean against the archway of the kitchen and smile, every part of her body feeling warm and tingly. He was a great father, a wonderful husband... Rose knew everything had been worth it, finally. And she had finally come to terms with the fact of life that everything happens for a reason.

The friendships of Jack, Rose, Iris, Frenchie, and Tim had been sealed by that fateful afternoon in July. They realized on that hot summer day how irrelevant some things in life were. They discovered the graves they had dug, unhappy with the hills they had chosen to die on. Witnessing the tantalizing birth of Hope Charlotte Dawson had proved to every adult in the room that day that there was more to life than being unhappy and staving things off in an effort to remain passive. Life was precious, they all agreed, and they now strived to live by that motto with the giggly face of Hope as their motivator. Frenchie and Iris had been designated Hope's god-parents. Jack and Rose couldn't be more thrilled to have a variety of wonderful adults that would hopefully prove to be role models in Hope's upcoming childhood.

Every day was a new adventure for Jack and Rose as they crossed bridges they never had, or ever suspected to. Figuring out how to change and powder a squirmy baby had once been a two-man job in the Dawson household, but now, Rose watched with a large grin as Jack deftly changed Hope's diaper while making silly faces at the baby. Some of the neighbors had surely been whispering about them as they saw Jack completely and utterly involved in Hope, sometimes taking her to work with him so Rose could focus on writing. Many evenings, Jack could be found reclined in a sun chair on the back porch, Hope resting on his chest while he drank a beer. Jack didn't think he could ever love something as much as he did Hope. Only twelve weeks old and she already had her parents wrapped around her little finger. There wasn't anything, they agreed, that could prevent them from giving Hope whatever she wanted, desired, or needed. Hope was now number one in everything and her parents certainly did not mind that. They gave every part of their being to taking on their new titles as Mother and Father.

It wasn't until mid-August, around the time Hope had actually been due, that Rose finally began to feel normal again. Whatever her definition of normal was, at least. The first few weeks had left her with resounding cramps some nights. Some days, it was uncomfortable to sit for too long, while others, walking was an absolute chore. Her appetite had been finnicky, but finally, it had began to return to a regular schedule. She was convinced, however, she would have to pee at the top of every hour for the rest of her life. Now that Rose was beginning to fell well again, the time had finally come for Rose to repay her debt to Jack.

Evening time had set it, the clock in the hallway signifying just after eight o'clock. Hope had been laid down, though they knew she was awake. Just next door, on the other side of their ajar door, they could hear the baby making noises, obviously to entertain herself with her newfound vocal cords. Jack was seated in a plush recliner, his legs crossed. Rose exited from the bathroom, her long firey curls falling over her shoulders. She was wearing a long black silk robe, tied loosely at the waist. Jack couldn't help but think she looked like an absolute angel as her robe flowed between her silky legs. She came to stand before him, the most-knowing smirk poising her lips.

"So, Mr. Artiste," Rose said with a voice of velvet. Carefully, she teased at the shoulder of her loose-fitting robe, "Would you like me on the bed... or the couch?" Jack shot her a playful look that sent her into a bout of giggles, "What? You honestly can't expect me to forget your first gawk when you saw me nude."

"Can you blame me?" Jack asked, raking his hair back from his face. He reached for his portfolio that was sitting on a trunk at the end of their bed. He set it in his lap and looked back towards his subject, who was only grinning at him, motionless as she watched him.

"I just would have thought a man with your kind of history would be used to seeing women's breasts and bare stomachs," Rose lifted her chin in a mocking aristrocratic way.

"Yeah, well, don't pretend you're like the women I used to draw," He grinned boyishly, "Now, lay down on the couch beneath the window."

Slowly, Rose lowered herself onto the couch, allowing her robe to become loose, drooping over her shoulder and falling fluidly around her curvy thighs. She extended her soft legs outwards, running over the smooth cotton and she began to set her head back against the pillows. Not even completely nude, Jack felt a heat radiating within him as he admired her curves and the way her petite body beckoned to him. Almost as if it was April 14th, 1912, he felt rather nervous as he gripped his pencil, trying to decide where on the page to start. He had drawn Rose a dozen times over, but there was always something special about when she was laid out before him for his viewing pleasure. Jack realized he had been staring at his subject much too long and cleared his throat, returning to the blank page in front of him. He set the lead to the paper, his mind still overrun with fantasies of running his hand along her silky skin, cupping her breasts into palms, and loving her in her entirety for the rest of the night. Just as he began to make the faintest sketch along the paper, Hope's cries filled the air, resounding through their silent house.

Rose propped herself up on her elbow, "She's probably hungry. This won't take long, I promise," Rose said as she came to her feet and adjusted her robe on her slender figure. She brushed past Jack, gently touching his shoulder, "I'll be right back."

Jack listened to the soft steps of Rose's barefeet against the hardwood. He smiled to himself in his seat as he heard Rose through the walls from the nursery. Gently, Rose cooed at Hope, whispering sweet nothings as she leaned into the crib to collect the fussy baby. After a few moments, Jack leapt from his seat and went to the nursery, his portfolio under his arm. Slowly, he came to the entry of the fully furnished nursery, adorned in spectacular murals on all the walls. Rose was seated in a rocking chair beneath the large picture window that overlooked the backyard. Her robe was pulled back to expose a silky shoulder and she lovingly watched as Hope quieted down and allowed herself to be fed. Jack entered the nursery and plopped down criss-cross on the floor. Quickly, he erased the stroke on the page he had made before and began furiously sketching new lines out.

"What are you doing?" Rose asked, lifting her eyes away from Hope.

A few beats went by before Jack looked up from his portfolio, "This is the picture I want."

"You're telling me you'd rather have a picture of me breast feeding than laid out for your pleasure?" Rose arched her eyebrows and smiled at the thought.

Jack grinned, glancing at her from between his dangling bangs, "Well, you said I get five, right?"

"I was hoping you'd forget about that," Rose laughed, looking at Hope and gingerly brushing some wild blonde curls from her forehead. She watched the baby's small hand grasp at her exposed chest. Rose marvelled that a human's hand could even be that tiny.

"I like this more, though," Jack paused from drawing and looked at Rose, "This is natural. It's you in your every day life. What could be more beautiful than watching you be a mother?"

Rose's cheeks grew warm from Jack's words and she watched as the love of her life returned to continuing with his immense gift. Rose decided to focus on Hope, the sounds of Jack's scratching pencil making it to her ears. She couldn't help but relish in her thoughts of how lucky she was. A year ago, she had been miserable, doomed to what she thought would be an endless parade of unhappiness. But it was magnificent to her to see how much could change in three-hundred and sixty-five days. She didn't have to pretend to be Rose Dawson anymore. She was Rose Dawson. Dreams maybe really did come true, she told herself. And every day she would sure to be thankful for what she had. As long as she had Jack by her side and Hope in her arms, Rose knew everything would be okay. They weren't invincible, but they were resourceful, and that gave her more stability in her life than what her childhood had proven to her. Gently, Rose brought her hand up to tenderly graze Hope's rounded cheeks. She wasn't expecting tears to brim her eyes, however, and she laughed at herself, lifting her wet eyes to look at Jack.

"I love you," Rose said gently, pulling Jack from his drawing again.

He smiled as he looked at his loving wife, so overwhelmed by what life had proven to be for her. Jack was nothing but proud of that woman. She proved to herself, to everyone, to the universe, that she wasn't some trapped bird in a cage, waiting for her fire to die out. She was a fighter. She was a survivor. And she was all his.

"I love you, too," Jack told her.

And with that, he returned to his drawing, hurrying to get the border lines done before Hope was full and ready to fall asleep, warm in her crib, in the protection of their home. As the lines began to take shape, Jack's heart swelled with pride as he made the familar marks of Rose's face, defined by her curved nose and her plump lips. Gingerly, he added small tears to the corners of her eyes and worked on lightly sketching out Hope's lively curls.

My girls... Jack thought warmly as he paused to look at what he had drawn. He lifted his head, watching as Hope finished feeding. Rose gingerly pressed her lips to Hope's forehead and Jack's heart fluttered in his chest, You two will always be my girls.

The End

A/N: Thanks to everyone who stuck through this with me. This ended up being much longer than I originally anticipated. Every review of positivity and constructive criticism has been taken to heart. What started as a simple sample for another author about the fun world of slow burn turned into a fic taking on an entire life of it's own. Thanks again to everyone who took the time to look at my work, it's truly appreciated. Happy Writing!