I hope everyone had a nice Christmas!

Sorry for taking so long to post this. I was trying to make the chapter better and got caught up in everything else (including Christmas) and kind of forgot to update this story. This isn't a very long chapter, I know. It felt long while I was writing it.

So I think this is going to be the last chapter. I think there will be an epilogue, like between 10-20 years later (Because everyone who's read this knows just how much I love my time jumps.) so look out for that.

Thank you everyone who has read this. It has been quite the journey and experience for me. (And just because I'm thank you doesn't mean you should stop reading. THIS ISN'T THE END! I promise! There's 1 MORE CHAPTER after this! :D )

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Caledon Hockley made his decision. He would have a funeral for himself and disappear. It's not as if he'd be truly missed, especially not with the market the way it was.

He finished packing his final bag and a servant loaded them into the car. He would board a train and never return.

"Cal!"

Cal snapped around at the sound of the voice. He hardly had a minute to see who it was before they slammed into him, hugging him tightly. "Come with me to California."

Cal looked at Rose with confusion. He adored this woman, yes, but he had laid his heart out for her hours before and she ignored it.

"What's in California?"

"There's a board meeting," Rose explained hurriedly, "The studio was burned down, but that's besides the point. I want to try things between us again. I think we owe it to ourselves to really see if we could work."

Cal nodded dumbly as he understood what she was saying. "Are you asking me out, Rose?" She gave him a small, nervous smile and nodded. "Alright," he agreed, "I'll go to California with you."

Rose beamed and took his hand, reminding him of a child, despite her age. "Well come on! Put his things in my car. Let's go!"

"Tickets," the conductor asked Cal on the train as Rose was curled in against him inside the compartment of the train. She was fast asleep and was taking great enjoyment of using his arm and shoulder as a pillow and as something to hug tightly.

With some difficulty, Cal was able to extract their tickets from his pocket and hand them to the conductor as Samuel, Grace, and Róża rejoined them.

"You should probably wake her," Grace said softly, "We're almost there."

Cal nodded, giving the sleeping redhead a small shake. She woke with a start. "What is it?" she mumbled groggily.

"Well, for one, my arm is numb," Rose snapped back, blushing, "We're pulling into the station. We're in California."

Rose nodded, covering her mouth with her hand as she yawned.

"Anna Rosie," the now fourteen-year-old Róża asked softly, "Are you two in love?"

Awkwardness filled the compartment as Cal and Rose moved to opposite sides of the compartment, Grace turned as red as Rose's hair, and Sam started to stutter, trying to scold his stepdaughter.

"Róża!" Grace finally was able to spit out once her silence ended, beating her husband to the scolding, "Don't ask such personal questions!"

Róża shrugged. "It's just that they were fast asleep and they looked very cozy together."

Sam looked like he might breath fire. "You shouldn't be talking like that."

"But everyone was saying how when Virginia Nelson passed out, Ricky Felders carried her to the nurse's then laid his head on the pillow next to her's because he loves her."

The adults all looked at the girl who had grown up far too quickly for any of their liking. The train jerked to a stop at the station.

"Ok missy, let's get you off the train now," Grace said, taking her daughter by the arm, "You need to stop asking such questions."

Rose had a house in California, Cal was stunned to learn. It had been left to her by Charles Holloway. It was impressive, a beautiful home in a Spanish architectural style. It held a warmth and homeliness that the Hockley mansion never did.

Rose had a friend, one who was one the brink of death with an illness, that looked like him. He did what Cal had attempted, able to pull himself off from the former millionaire. It was the escape he had needed, but never known how to achieve. After, Cal had gone to a courthouse, telling them that his original birth certificate had been lost in a move, that he was born in 1882 and his name was John Calvert, no middle name. Just like that, he was a new person with a new name and new identity.

Rose still insisted on calling him Cal though. She told him that she had always known him as that, and she will always know him as that. It wasn't some grand declaration of love that he was hoping for, but for now, it was enough.

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